"Objection."
"Objection sustained. Confine yourself to the questions please."
"Mr. d'Larte was older than his wife?" the Prosecutor asked.
"Eighteen years older."
"Was it a happy marriage?"
"At first, at least on his part. He was contented, but she seemed restless. Always wanted to go to museums and see paintings, or playing her silly antique records all day. Not content with the government 'Do-It-Yourself' kits. Called them mechanical and expressionless. She insulted Mr. d'Larte's friends time and again. Called them frauds. Said their paintings, books and plays were terrible. Said that real talent was dead.
"You said she spent a lot of time in museums?"
"I didn't say it, but she did. Every chance she got. She'd be gone for hours."
"Which museum? The one commemorating the wars? The Museum of Mechanics?"
"None of those. She'd go to the old one on the hill. That horrible thing with the relics of the past in it. The one run by the robots. The one run by the government to remind us of the past when only a few were allowed talent and not everybody like today. But I think she went to the museum for another reason. No one could really be interested in those things they have there."