I had to think of something good, something to let Myrtle know that Jack Kennedy wasn't the only man in the world who was keen on physical fitness. "As a matter of fact," I said, "I am going shark fishing in Ireland." "Do you good," said Myrtle. "Take off some of that flabbiness." She left the buffet, and later I watched her, poised at the mountain's brink. She waved. I waved back, flabbily. Myrtle disappeared. The baroness said, "You're not as elderly as I thought when I first saw you. From certain angles you look young."
All my sense of flabbiness gone, I turned toward the baroness, physically fit in her own way. I ought to have known better.