“It doesn’t have to have a personal manager,” Blake insisted. “It all runs by system. Science.”
“Sure. All right. But what’s the system? Truth, of course.”
“Call it God while you’re at it,” drawled Teddy, who was almost asleep. “That’s what you’re working around to, anyway. ‘Some call it Evolution’....”
“I don’t mean Evolution,” said Gin scornfully. “Now you’ve got me all mixed up. I’m talking about the truth, that’s all. Things are true. If I didn’t think so, I’d commit suicide. I wouldn’t even take the trouble to commit suicide, I’d just stop living.”
“Well then, by all means go on believing in truth,” said Teddy placidly.
“It isn’t believing,” she insisted. “It is so.”
“I never feel like committing suicide,” said Blake thoughtfully. “It might hurt.”
“Well, that proves it,” Gin said triumphantly. “You have a standard.”
“No, I haven’t. That doesn’t follow.” He stood up and stretched,
Teddy said, “Of course you have. You believe in painting, don’t you? Some of it is better than the rest, isn’t it? Well then, you have standards.”