If it was not an actual personal lover, it still might be the lover not yet incarnate, not yet perhaps suspected. If my Mom found out, she’d kill me. Buried under various ancestral sixteenths, smothered under modern thought, liberty of action and bewildering variety of flesh-pots, it was still alive to the extent that it needed only his present state to resuscitate it in all its peculiar force. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. I snatched it up, pointed it blindly at him, and fired. If I had known that you had meant to talk like this I wouldn’t have come here. Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. "When a man reaches the lowest scale through drink, we call him a beachcomber.
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