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           Withhisuncannylameinstinctforpublicity,hehadbecomeinfourorfiveyearsoneofthebestknownoftheyoung’intellectuals’.Wheretheintellectcamein,Conniedidnotquitesee.Cliffordwasreallycleveratthatslightlyhumorousanalysisofpeopleandmotiveswhichleaveseverythinginbitsattheend.Butitwasratherlikepuppiestearingthesofacushionstobits;exceptthatitwasnotyoungandplayful,butcuriouslyold,andratherobstinatelyconceited.Itwasweirdanditwasnothing.Thiswasthefeelingthatechoedandre-echoedatthebottomofConnie’ssoul:itwasallflag,awonderfuldisplayofnothingness;Atthesametimeadisplay.Adisplay!adisplay!adisplay!

           MichaelishadseizeduponCliffordasthecentralfigureforaplay;alreadyhehadsketchedintheplot,andwrittenthefirstact.ForMichaeliswasevenbetterthanCliffordatmakingadisplayofnothingness.Itwasthelastbitofpassionleftinthesemen:thepassionformakingadisplay.Sexuallytheywerepassionless,evendead.AndnowitwasnotmoneythatMichaeliswasafter.Cliffordhadneverbeenprimarilyoutformoney,thoughhemadeitwherehecould,formoneyisthesealandstampofsuccess.Andsuccesswaswhattheywanted.Theywanted,bothofthem,tomakearealdisplay...aman’sownverydisplayofhimselfthatshouldcaptureforatimethevastpopulace.

           Itwasstrange...theprostitutiontothebitch-goddess.ToConnie,sinceshewasreallyoutsideofit,andsinceshehadgrownnumbtothethrillofit,itwasagainnothingness.