"Well, I could use your advice. We are friends. You are my friend, you know. I think we're each other's only friends in the world, after all. Are you studying music?"

"Well, if it isn't music then I'm in a gang war," I said. "Because this case holds either a fiddle or a tommy gun." I guess I must have felt embarrassed. Then she began to tell me about the new fiance, mumbling. "Don't talk like that," I said. "What's the matter with you? Blow your nose. Why do you give me this Ivy League jive? This soft-spoken stuff? It's just done to take advantage of common people and make them bend over so as to hear you. You know I'm a little deaf," I said. "Raise your voice. Don't be such a snob. So tell me, did your fiance go to Choate or St. Paul's? Your last husband went to President Roosevelt's prep school--whatchumajigger."

Lily now spoke more clearly and said, "My mother is dead."

Is it any wonder I had to go to Africa?

But I have told you there always comes a day of tears and madness.

[Henderson the Rain King. Read it.]