"Unless you have eaten a Syrian orange," he was always saying, "you have only a rudimentary idea of what an orange is. She thought of how much she wanted to eat the foods she had once feasted on that now smelled as innocuous as spring flowers. She had almost chosen to prostitute herself rather than live in that animal state once, but had found a warm cave in Kentucky just as situations had grown truly desperate. "In the mean time, with your permission, I'll just make a few minutes of our conversation. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle. ” Sebastian drove on.
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