"Why, yes," I said; "it's a place where people wait."
"Like a station?"
"Only the trains don't always come in. Anyway, on one side of the bar are a lot of young men waiting for something to turn up, and on the other a lot of old men writing autobiographies."
"But aren't there any middling-olders?" This is Phyllistian for men of middle age.
"Not allowed," I said. "At the Bar you are either a junior or a reminiscer."
"What's that?"
"It's an illness that attacks people who aren't really famous."
Phyllis stared. "Like measles?"
I nodded.
"Oh," cried Lillah eagerly, "do the reminiscers go all pink?"