“You don’t like me, do you?” she asked suddenly and pathetically, just like a small child. Sergei did not look at her but merely said, “What makes you think that?” “It is normal to try to make conversation while in the car with someone, isn’t it?” “Oh, well, my English is only average,” he lied. “Maybe, but I speak Russian,” she persisted Sergei grunted. “What, your Russian is only average too?” she said, raising an eyebrow.”

“You are dead, you know!” he screeched delightedly, “Come on Miss Wright! Die! Die! DIE!”

“But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?” Jenny asked.“Make me”, I replied.“Beg pardon?”“Make me”, I repeated.Her eyes widened like saucers. “You mean like incest?” she asked.“Don’t give me your family problems, Jen. I have enough of my own.”“Like what, Oliver?” she asked, “like just what is it he makes you do?”“The ‘right things’”, I said. “What’s wrong with the ‘right things’?” she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.”

“The Last Words of My English GrandmotherThere were some dirty platesand a glass of milkbeside her on a small tablenear the rank, disheveled bed--Wrinkled and nearly blindshe lay and snoredrousing with anger in her tonesto cry for food,Gimme something to eat--They're starving me--I'm all right--I won't goto the hospital. No, no, noGive me something to eat!Let me take youto the hospital, I saidand after you are wellyou can do as you please.She smiled, Yesyou do what you please firstthen I can do what I please--Oh, oh, oh! she criedas the ambulance men liftedher to the stretcher--Is this what you callmaking me comfortable?By now her mind was clear--Oh you think you're smartyou young people,she said, but I'll tell youyou don't know anything.Then we started.On the waywe passed a long rowof elms. She looked at themawhile out ofthe ambulance window and said,What are all thosefuzzy looking things out there?Trees? Well, I'm tiredof them and rolled her head away.”

“The Prince found Buttercup waiting unhappily outside his chamber doors.It's my letter,' she began. 'I cannot make it right.'Come in, come in,' the Prince said gently. 'Maybe we can help you.' She sat down in the same chair as before. 'All right, I'll close my eyes and listen; read to me.'Westley, my passion, my sweet, my only my own. Come back, come back. I shall kill myself otherwise. Yours in torment, Buttercup.' She looked at Humperdinck. 'Well? Do you think I'm throwing myself at him?”

“How do you define difficult?”“By your presence.”She grinned fully, delighted to feel the tensiondissipate. “Now you are just flattering me for noreason.”He grunted.“On the contrary,” she said, as if his grunt hadbeen a worded response. “It was most flattering.”He stared at her.“What? Did you think I wouldn’t figure out how tointerpret your grunts?”

“You will like her," he persisted. "Egad, she's after your own heart, maman! She shot me in the arm.""Voyons, do you think that is what I like?”