"And I wish," said Angela, "you wouldn't tell people my name is Moorecock."
They studied each other. "Who've I told?"
"Michael. That doctor Shumacher." Angela Moore hesitated, for intentional effect. "Patrick."
"Patrick?" Surprised, Yossarian sensed the reply before he put the question. "Which Patrick?
Patrick Beach?"
"Patrick Beach."
"Oh, shit," he said, after his jolt of surprise. "You're seeing Patrick?"
"He's called."
"You'll have to go sailing. You'll probably hate it."
"I've already been. I didn't mind."
"Doesn't he have trouble with his prostate?"
"Not right now. It's why he isn't coming by here anymore. You were close with his wife. Do you think she'll know?"
"Frances Beach knows everything, Angela."
"I'm not the first."
"She knows that already. She'll be able to guess."
"There really is something going on between you and that nurse, isn't there?" guessed Frances Beach. "I can almost smell coitus in this rancid air."
"Am I letting it show?"
"No, darling, she is. She watches over you more protectively than she should. And she's much too correct when others are here. Advise her not to be so tense."
"That will make her more tense."
"And you still have that vulgar compulsion I never could abide. You look down at a woman's bottom whenever she turns around, at all women, and with so much pride at hers. It's that pride of possession. You eye mine too, don't you?"
"I know I always do that. It doesn't make me proud. You still look pretty good."
"You would not think that if you didn't have memories."
"I've got another bad habit you'll find even worse."
"I'll bet I can guess. Because I do it too."
Then tell me."
"Have you also arrived at that wretched stage when you can't look seriously into a human face without already picturing what it will look like when old?"
"I can't see how you knew."
"We've been too much alike."
"I do it only with women. It helps me lose interest."
"I do it with every face already giving clues. It's evil and morbid. This one will wear well."