“She glanced down at the contents of her plate. Just tell him what it is. Simple. Look at it and say what it is. "Sloppy Joe," she managed."Hmm," he said, sounding doubtful. "May he rest in peace.”

“She may know a little, may think of herself, face and body, as ‘pretty’… but he could never tell her all the rest, how many other living things, birds, nights smelling of grass and rain, sunlit moments of simple peace, also gather in what she is to him.”

“Occasionally she glanced at him, asking with her glance, 'Is this what I think?' "I understand,' she said, blushing. "What is this word?' he said, pointing to the "n' that signified the word "never." .... She wrote: t, I, c,g,n,o,a.”

“And Master--or Mister--Sloppy?' said the Secretary, in doubt whether he was man, boy, or what.”

“This looks good.""That's Metamucil," Bricker said with disgust, snatching it from her hand."So?" She turned to scowl at him. "What's wrong with Metamucil?""It's--" He glanced at the container and read, "A dietary supplement.""That sounds healthy," she said, trying to grab it back."Eshe," he said, his disgust giving way to amusement. "It's what old mortals take to get regular.""To get regular what?" she asked, and then poked him in the stomach, hard. The moment Bricker bent over with an "oomph," she snatched the container back and repeated, "Regular what?""Crap," he gasped, clutching his stomach. "I didn't hit you that hard," she said with some disgust of her own."No." He sighed, straightening. "I meant that's what they get regulated. Crap."Eshe dropped the can in dismay. "They buy crap?”

“For years, every conversation she had with a man had been colored by calculation. Would she put him off is she spoke her mind? What did he want her to say? When a man took a mistress, he purchased not just the rights to her body, but the content of her thoughts. Sir Mark wanted her as she was, not as he wished her to be. The thought made her head hurt.”