"What are you reading?"
"I don't remember that one. What was he like?"
"Wistful fellow. Lovely ideas... shame about the war, though."
"Ah, many of the best got caught up in those somehow. Read me a passage, maybe it'll spark a memory."
"Sure you're close enough to hear me? You might want to crawl into my ear, at that rate."
"Oh, hush. What's that one?"
"Er... The Four Postures of Death. Are you certain...?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Go on."
"...He said, 'dance for me,' and he said: 'you are too beautiful for the wind to pick at, or the sun to burn.' He said, 'I'm a poor, tattered thing, but not unkind to the sad dancer, and the dancing dead.' "
"...Wasn't that from some other book? Rabbits, yes?"
"That passage in particular, yes. Started here, though."
"...it's very beautiful. Poignant."
"Here, read this one."
"...this is a recipe book."
"Yes! It was this, or a newspaper. Or this?"
"We haven't got any- what- why d'you want me to read all this? A dictionary? Honestly!"
"It isn't MY fault you sound sinful when you read aloud."
"Flattery is hardly fair."
"Oh, but it gets us everywhere."
"Hey- let go of those!"
"Oh, come off it. It's what braces are for!"
No, I really wouldn't like to hear about how terrible I am for promoting paradox and self-cest all in one go. I'm well aware, thank you.