He laughed lightly. ‘It is nothing at all of the kind. I saw an 86 ad in the back of a comic book that advertised instructions on how to create your own hovercraft, right between the page of Sea Monkeys and the order form for stuff like Whoopee cushions and plastic barf. “Do I understand you then to refuse my offer?” he asked Anna. She turned to the stage, and Tristan was wounded in Kurvenal’s arms, with Isolde at his feet, and King Mark, the incarnation of masculine force and obligation, the masculine creditor of love and beauty, stood over him, and the second climax was ending in wreaths and reek of melodies; and then the curtain was coming down in a series of short rushes, the music had ended, and the people were stirring and breaking out into applause, and the lights of the auditorium were resuming. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. ‘You see, it is that I am a female, and you all are men.
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