"Of course," she agreed.
"I don't object to females knowing a lot. The world does."
"Of course," she said.
She was a first model and, therefore, experimental. These bugs were bound to show up. She was now less knowing, more deceptive, and she could frown.
She began to remind him of Vera, which didn't make sense.
Alice was sad when he was sad, gay when he was gay, and romantic to the same split-degree in the same split-second. She even told him his old jokes with the same inflection he always used.
Their mood affinity was geared as closely as the comptin-reduco-determina. What more could a man want? And, damn it, why should Vera's perfume linger in that back bedroom?
The fumigators could do nothing. They left, after the third trip, shaking their heads. Joe stood in the doorway, insisting he could still smell it.
Alice said, "It's probably mental, dear. Perhaps you still—still—what's that word? Perhaps you still love her."