—Darwin, The Origin of Species —It reminds me rather of that convent, the one at ... Champigneulles, was it? Near Dijon, said a tall woman, looking round her. —The one that was turned into a madhouse. —I know what you mean, said the girl beside her. —Everyone keeps changing size. The tall woman looked at her quizzically, and noted that both of her wrists were bandaged. She took a step back; the girl took a step forward. —What do you do? —I? Why . . . when? —Write? —Oh, said the tall woman, recovering, —I support my husband. He writes. He's an editor, you know. He's editing Esther's book. —Who's Esther? —Why, my dear, she's our hostess. There, talking with the tall fellow in the green necktie. She turned, as her husband approached with a martini. —What an interesting group of people, she said. —And what interesting music. —It's Handel, he said, handing her a glass. —The Triumph of Truth and Justice. She looked around her, and raised the glass to her lips.
