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behind a mephitic banquette of cigarette smoke

the proud, moistened, middle-distance stare of a man who believes himself to have been gravely and perhaps insupportably traduced.

It was quite clear to everyone that Gwyn and Demeter Barry had the perfect marriage. You only had to look at them to see that this was a match made in heaven.

They held hands all the time (they were "inseparable"). He called her love all the time. She gave him kisses on the cheek all the time. T…

He was impotent with her every other night and, at weekends, in the mornings too—when those boys of his gave him half a chance! (The patter of tiny feet; the stubborn and inexpert worrying of the doorknob; the hoarse command from the bedroom met by puzzled whispers, puzzled withdrawal; the mind-fil…

Because . . . because then he would be left with experience, with untranslated and unmediated experience. Because then he would be left with life.