"What's your sort of nice?" she asked, with a little laugh.
The other people were stone. It was like talking into a chasm.
"Ah! If I knew myself, I'd look for them! But not sentimental, with a lot of soppy emotions on top, and nasty ones underneath."
"Who are you thinking of?" Carlotta looked up at me as the man brought the fish. She had a crushed sort of roguishness. The other diners were images.
"I? Nobody. Just everybody. No, I think I was thinking of the Obelisk Memorial Service."
"Did you go to it?"
"No, but I fell into it."
"Wasn't it moving?"
"Rhubarb, senna, that kind of moving!"
She gave a little laugh, looking up into my face, from the fish.