"It doesn't take me at all. I don't give it a chance."
"It doesn't give you a chance, when it comes, my child."
"Yes, it does. There's always," said the Infant, speaking slowly, "just—one—chance. When you feel it coming."
"You don't feel it coming."
"I do. You asked me how it takes me. It takes me by stages. Gradual, insidious stages. In the first stage I'm happy, because it feels nice. In the second I'm terrified. In the third I'm angry and I turn round and stamp. Hard."
"Ridiculous baby. With those feet?"
"When those feet have done stamping there isn't much left to squirm, I can tell you."
"Let's look at them."
Laura lifted the hem of her skirt and revealed the marvel and absurdity of her feet.
"And they," said Nina, "stamped on George Tanqueray."