He began to feel such an overpowering desire to seize upon her now, that the idea of losing his life-illusion seemed like tearing a mask from his face, a mask that hurt his flesh.

“How does your own writing go, Chris?” he asked in a forced, queer voice.

She reached over to the sofa and piled Tristram Shandy on the top of Humphrey Clinker , and the Anatomy of Melancholy on the top of Tristram Shandy . As she did this she smiled sideways at him, while the smoke from her cigarette rose up as if from a hidden crucible of incense pressed against her knees. He had noticed before, that she never said anything important to him except while making some physical movement to distract attention from her words!