— But… I thought I'd never see him again. Isn't that. . isn't that… I never wanted to see him again, and now here he is and I want to see him, I have to see him, where is he?
— I can't believe he's really gone, she murmured as they took their eyes from each other and looked toward the door, saw only the young man whose heavy mustache seemed to weigh his round head forward, looking at them, innocent, anxious at their sudden scrutiny.
— Ellery, did you see him? I mean, he was just here, did you see him leave, Ellery?
— Sorry, old girl. He broke a leg. Had to shoot him.
— Really, Ellery, please. I've got to find him, is he still here? She had taken hold of Benny's arm; and who Benny was, or what he wanted, ceased in her grasp which held Benny forth, a dumb prodigy, to witness that the matter was not hers, but necessity's own.
— A shame to shoot him, a fine blooded animal like that… It was difficult to know if the blonde beside Ellery was trying, but unable, to smile, or subduing that smile which is stupidity's cordial greeting to matters which its very nature excuses it from attempting to understand: so she looked, not at Esther, but at the silent phenomenon of Esther's evidence, as though there might be immediately apparent not only the evidence, but the very nature of the case itself, and its disposition not understanding, but dismissal.
— Ellery. .
— The truck just came around from the Futtybrook Hunt Club, skinned him, cut him up, took him back to the kennels. Dog meat. . Benny tore from Esther's grasp, and, stepping forward, he said, — Ellery, what's the matter with you, good God Ellery will you. .
— Hell of an end for a thoroughbred.
— Stop it, will you tell us… Benny commenced, raising his hands.
— Come on, Benny. You're drunk, Ellery said, grinning and looking at him, and the blonde looked at Esther, no longer plaintiff but witness herself to the relieving and obvious fact that there was really nothing to be concerned about after all. — He's gone, Ellery said easily. — I saw him leave a minute or two ago. He put a hand on Benny's shoulder. — Come on, Benny, Christ. Straighten up. I told you you deserved a drink, but not a whole bottle. . Benny drew away from him, without even looking at his face; and Ellery shrugged, took a deep inhalation from his cigarette, winking at the blonde as he turned away. Esther and Benny stood silent, as though both listening for denial of Ellery, for explanation of one another.
— That very odd girl with the green tongue has been telling me that it was really the Jews who discovered America, said the tall woman, her back to them. — Isabella's jewels didn't have a thing to do with it, backing Columbus I mean, it seems it was Isabella's Jews. .
They both looked up, and both spoke at once. But Esther stopped.
— He was a draftsman, wasn't he. Were you married to him then? He was only a draftsman, and I was a designer. We worked together. He never mentioned me, did he. Well why, why should he, why should he have mentioned me to anybody, why. .
Over his shoulder, Esther looked up to see the brown eyes of the critic; then she turned back to Benny with a different look on her face. — Don't you want to sit down somewhere? she said.
— He never talked about me, did he. And why should you care, what would it matter to you? And why should I care now, why should I want to see him, because anyhow everything's different now. And it's all different for him too, isn't it. Why should I want to see him now, any more than. . why should we have even worked together then, what. . because everything's different now, I'm fine now, I'm getting along fine, and is he? What's he doing now? Is he happy now? Is he getting along fine, like I am? Did everything change for him too, so that… Is he doing what he wanted to do now? or like me, is he doing what he can do, what he has to do…
— Why don't you just sit down here? Esther said as they reached the couch. — Can I bring you some coffee? She hesitated, and turned away.
— That's funny. That's funny, Benny said, sitting down slowly. — But you didn't tell me what he's doing now. That's funny. God. Benny blew his nose, and looked round him. He saw the back of his own flannel suit, and heard the voice of the man in it saying, — It's not really my line of work, I'm really a sort of historian, a musicologist, you might say, but I've been trying to get permission from the city to operate a public toilet concession in New York. . Could you hand me those crackers?
The woman in the collapsed maternity dress said to someone, — And you see that person in the green shirt, you see that scar on his nose? Well I understand that he had his nose bobbed, an expensive plastic surgeon did it and some girl paid for it, didn't leave a mark, and then one night when he was in bed a radio fell off the shelf and gave him that scar, there's poetic justice. . heh, heh heh heh…
— What's his name?
— Him? It's… I can't think of it, but it's one of those nice names, you know the kind they take, like White, White is a good nigger name.
Nearby, Mr. Crotcher had settled into an armchair, and begun moaning accompaniment to a harpsichord fraction of the Harmonious Blacksmith. He stopped to look down, and say, — Good heavens, good heavens, where did you come from? Get away. You're going to have an accident, get away, getaway getaway getaway. . The baby, with a welt rising on its forehead, had begun to climb up his leg. Out of sight, the girl with bandaged wrists was saying, — After all, this is its first birthday, so this is kind of a birthday party for it too…
— Started to call himself Jacques San-jay when he went into interior decorating, someone said. — I knew him when his name was Jack Singer.
— So after that, the old man left me with nothing but fifty tons of sugar that I can't unload, and they're forcing me to take delivery. Do you think Esther would mind storing it here?
— Yess, said the dark man in the sharkskin suit, — I was told that the Stock market in New York was a complex affair.
— Maybe I ought to have it dumped on the old man's doorstep. Chr-ahst, after a trick like that. Now all I have to do is sell one of his God-damned battleships. .
— Ah? How fortunate, said the shark-skinned Argentine. — For a moment I thought I was at the wrong party.
— Dear God no, the tall woman was saying, — my husband hasn't got any friends. He doesn't have the time.
— Well look, it's obvious to any thinking person. The Swiss have banks all over the world. What's more necessary to a successful war than banks?
Mr. Feddle, concentrating on an open book (it was Frothingham's Aratos) was bumped aside by someone looking for an encyclopedia. — Got to look up a mutt, named Chavenay. Sounds French.
— You have to really live there to understand why France has turned out so many great thinkers, and artists, a girl said. — Just live there for awhile and get a load of what they have to revolt against, and anybody would be great.
The boy who had got an advance on his novel said, — I wanted to sort of celebrate, but what the hell. Where are the nice places? They're all business lunchrooms, do you know what I mean? Expense accounts. They're all supported by expense accounts. It's depressing as hell.
— But my dear boy, why should all this bother you? said the tall woman, who had appeared. — You don't have to eat in these places all the time. Look at my husband, he has to.
— I know. But it's depressing as hell, where can you celebrate?
— I'd suggest Nedick's, said the tall woman.