3
" An old walrus-faced waiter attended to me; he had the knack of pouring the coffee and the hot milk from two jugs, held high in the air, and I found this entrancing, as if he were a child's magician. One day he said to me - he had some English - " Why are you sad?" " I'm not sad," I said, and began to cry. Sympathy from strangers can be ruinous." You should not be sad," he said, gazing at me with his melancholy, leathery walrus eyes. " It must be the love. But you are young and pretty, you will have time to be sad later." The French are connoisseurs of sadness, they know all the kinds. This is why they have bidets. " It is criminal, the love," he said, patting my shoulder. " But none is worse. "
7
" Surgeons are a singular brotherhood, Adam. To us, people aren't sacred beings crafted in the Almighty's image, no, people are joints of meat; diseased, leathery meat, yes, but meat ready for the skewer & the spit." He mimicked my usual voice, very well. " 'But why *me*, Henry, are we not friends?' Well, Adam, even friends are made out of meat. "
