Still deep into Updike, and dialogue like this:
and phrases like, "sour grapes, the champagne of the intelligentsia".
"Do you want to be a literary judge? Reading all that crap, and then getting no thanks?"
"No," Bech admitted. "I always duck it."
"Me too. So who accepts? Midgets. So who do they choose for the prize? Another midget."
And then, out of nowhere:
"But surely," Bech protested, "you didn't marry Pamela for her money?" "It was part of the picture. Just like her tits. Would you want to marry a woman if they sawed off her tits? Stick with her, sure - but take her on?"