"I've just felt so destructive all week. It's awful, I'm horrible."
"Your letter didn't sound so goddam destructive."
Franny nodded solemnly. She was looking at a little warm blotch of sunshine, about the size of a poker chip, on the tablecloth. "I had to strain to write it," she said.
Lane started to say something to that, but the waiter was suddenly there to take away the empty Martini glasses. "You want another one?" Lane asked Franny. (Franny.2.25-8)