"What do I want that for?"
"Doesn't it mean anything to you any more, Clarey? It used to mean a lot, though you denied it even to yourself."
"Did it?" He forced his thoughts back through time. "I suppose it did. But I've changed. You know, those five years on Damorlan seem like—"
"Like a lifetime," she finished. "Couldn't we dispense with the clichés?"
"On Damorlan the things I said were fresh and interesting. On Damorlan I was somebody pretty special. I'd rather be a big second-hand fish in a small primitive puddle. Isn't there some way—"
"No way at all, Clarey! The puddle's drying up. We've got a nice aquarium ready for you. Why not dive in gracefully?"
"It was my puddle," he said. "I belonged."
She closed her eyes and sank back into the chair which arched to meet the arch of her body. Lying down, she didn't look nearly as tall. "All right, let's give the whole opera one final run-through. Nobody cared for you on Earth; on Damorlan your friends liked you; your wife loved you. On Earth you never felt welcome and/or appreciated; on Damorlan you felt both welcome and appreciated. On Earth—"
He was stung out of his apathy. "That's right! I'm not saying I'm unique, only that I fitted—"