"Which implies that I'm not superior to anybody in any way."
"Check."
She stood there, looking at me through the murk. "Not even—prettier?"
"What's prettiness? The power to attract. If you were a genuine, all-around, Grade-A woman—you'd have the power to attract, without trying to impress a soul. As a pretty girl—you're not superior to a hundred thousand others—and inferior to tens of thousands."
"At least," she murmured, "I'm trying."
"Are you?"
"Am I not?"
"Who can really tell but you? For all I know, Yvonne, you may just be indulging in some new paroxysm of the spoiled rich matron."
"I did want to call Rol, though."