"Isn't that a rather common human failing?" she asked, wheeling the invalid chair through one of the french windows to the balcony.
"That's what makes it all seem so unfair."
Smiling, the woman turned the back of the chair to the brightest glare of sunshine, draped a light rug over the invalid's knees, and seated herself in a wicker chair, facing him.
"Makes all what seem so unfair?"
"The indignity of being born human." He accepted a cigarette and waxed didactic: "The one thing that the ego can find to reconcile it with existence is belief in its own uniquity."
"I don't think," she interrupted with a severe face belied by amused eyes, "that sounds quite nice."
"Uniquity? Because it sounds like iniquity? They are not unrelated. What makes iniquity seem attractive is as a rule its departure from the commonplace."
"But you were saying--?"
"Merely it's our personal belief that our emotions and sensations and ways of thought are peculiar to ourselves, individually, that sometimes makes the game seem worth the scandal."
"Yes: one presumes we all do think that..."