"You'll like it," I said. If she had insisted, I'd have let her order for herself. But she didn't want anything in particular to eat. She wanted to see what happened to her slight, vain whims. So I ignored them.
"You can have another Martini."
"I guess I must?"
"Sure. Must. Dinner will take a few minutes and we won't dance again till after."
"You're terribly positive."
"Nonsense," I said. "You're used to men who have been beaten to death by women before you got hold of them."
Her eyes fixed on me, dilated, and she laughed. "Rol."
"Among all the others. Maleness has just about disappeared in your native land, sister. The boys are all brought up by women, and taught by women in school, and then they go to work to support women by manufacturing and distributing the things women think they want. It's called civilization—and actually it's only the highest form barbarism has yet reached. Trinket-and-gadget society. Domestic convenience society. A society that holds a handkerchief to one end and sets the other on a flush toilet—a society that aims to make the linen germicidal and the toilet silent, colored, and perfumed."
"And men? What do they do? Use fingers and squat?"
"You're learning too fast. Live outdoors, avoid neurosis, and so escape the common cold. I think they could stand for the flush toilet—but they would be more concerned in getting the nitrogen back to the topsoil than they would in the orchid rims. First things first and a conscious sense of responsibility for the future—that's us boys."