"And what are you now?"
"I'm sorry, from the outside: all the complications and the ugliness and recrimination that's bound to come, sooner or later. That's when my blood sinks, and I'm low. But when my blood comes up, I'm glad. I'm even triumphant. I was really getting bitter. I thought there was no real sex left: never a woman who'd really 'come' naturally with a man: except black women, and somehow, well, we're white men: and they're a bit like mud."
"And now, are you glad of me?" she asked.
"Yes! When I can forget the rest. When I can't forget the rest, I want to get under the table and die."
"Why under the table?"
"Why?" he laughed. "Hide, I suppose. Baby!"
"You do seem to have had awful experiences of women," she said.
"You see, I couldn't fool myself. That's where most men manage. They take an attitude, and accept a lie. I could never fool myself. I knew what I wanted with a woman, and I could never say I'd got it when I hadn't."
"But have you got it now?"
"Looks as if I might have."