That evening, Clifford wanted to be nice to her. He was reading one of the latest scientific-religious books: he had a streak of a spurious sort of religion in him, and was egocentrically concerned with the future of his own ego. It was like his habit to make conversation to Connie about some book, since the conversation between them had to be made, almost chemically. They had almost chemically to concoct it in their heads.

“What do you think of this, by the way?” he said, reaching for his book. “You’d have no need to cool your ardent body by running out in the rain, if only we had a few more aeons of evolution behind us. Ah here it is!⁠—‘The universe shows us two aspects: on one side it is physically wasting, on the other it is spiritually ascending.’ ”

Connie listened, expecting more. But Clifford was waiting. She looked at him in surprise.

“And if it spiritually ascends,” she said, “what does it leave down below, in the place where its tail used to be?”