"see," Sasha Muttered, Eyeing The Sun. 'it's

A Bit Of Theory As We Settle Down For Lunch: The Waiter's Treatment Of Kitty Is Actually A Kind Of Sandwich, With The Bottom Bread Being The Bored And Slightly Effete Way He Normally Acts With Customers, The Middle Being The Crazed And Abnormal Way He Feels Around This Famous Nineteen-year-old Girl, And The Top Bread Being His Attempt To Contain And Conceal This Alien Middle Layer With Some Mode Of Behavior That At Least Approximates The Bottom Layer Of Boredom And Effeteness That Is His Norm.

What He Needed Was To Find Fifty More People Like Him, Who Had Stopped Being Themselves Without Realizing It.

They Were Snobs Or Idiots Or Both...yet She Was Inexplicably Crushed By Their Coldness.

I Know I'm Famous And Irresitible - A Combination Whose Properties Closely Resemble Radioactivity - And I Know That You In This Room Are Helpless Against Me.

I Can't Tell If She's Actually Real, Or If She's Stopped Caring If She's Real Or Not. Or Is Not Caring What Makes A Person Real?