“Steeply’s movement of smoothing the wig and twisting fingers thrrough the snarls of hair became perhaps more abrupt and frustrasted. Steeply said, ‘Well whose soup is it legally? Who actually bought the soup?’
Marathe shrugged. ‘Not relevant for my question. Suppose a third party, now unfortunately deceased. He appears at our flat with a can of soupe aux pois to eat while watching recorded U.S.A. sporting and suddenly is clutching his heard and falls to the carpeting deceased, holding the soup we are no both so wishing'” (426).
I really want pea soup right now.
I am so enamored of Marathe’s twisted Quebecois English. And Steeply’s discomfort in his female operative second-but-not-fitting skin. And i laugh every time the subhead reads, “Outcropping of Northwest Tucson, AZ, U.S.A. predawn, still.” Because seriously, are they going to be on that outcropping when we hit page 1000?
Ah, Infinite Summer, what have you done to me?