It was one of those old sliding trap affairs, narrow and steep of descent. "Something fresh on hand, I suppose?" "I'm come to inquire after Jack Sheppard," returned Jonathan. It was as if her finite human brain could only store a limit of information, details like hair color and fingernail shape easily jettisoned to make room for the nuances of a grin or the emotion of a shoulder blade. "Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. ’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. This made the eleventh. “I thought you weren’t getting along so well with your mother these days.
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