“Nonsense, Miriam.”
“Do you really think the war can be written away? There are so many opinions, and reading keeps one always balanced between different sets of ideas.”
“You’re too omnivorous, Miriam. You get the hang of too many things. You’re scattered.”
“The better you hear a thing put, the more certain you are there’s another view. And then there are motives.”
“Ah, now you’re talking.... Motives; can be used. Almost any sort of motive can be roped in; and directed. You ought to write up that little meeting by the way. You’re lucky you know, Miriam, in your opportunities for odd experience. Write it up. Don’t forget.”
“You weren’t there. It wasn’t a joke. I don’t want to be facetious about it.”
“You’re too near. But you will. Save it up. You’ll see all these little excursions in perspective when you’re round the next corner.”
“Oh I hate all these written up things; ‘Jones always wore a battered cricket cap, a little askew.’ They simply drive me mad. You know the whole thing is going to be lies from beginning to end.”
“You’re a romantic, Miriam.”
“I’m not. It’s the ‘always wore.’ Trying to get at you, just as much as ‘Iseult the Fair.’ Just as unreal, just as much in an assumed voice. The amazing thing is the way men go prosing on for ever and ever, admiring each other, never suspecting.”