It had occurred to her ... that possibly it was only the good who were able to believe in God—that the wicked, being hideously narcissistic, could see only themselves reflected in whatever they looked upon; could believe only in their own desires and inadequacies, were quite incapable of seeing the truth of a different person or deity. ... The only answer was for these people to practise virtue, no matter what they felt like. To do good things until it became clear to them that good things could be done. And perhaps in the end the snake scales would fall from their eyes, and they would be able to see the limpidity of God.

Little Mr Sirocco moved out that evening, permitting himself to be rehoused as obediently as a guinea pig, and they all helped carry his cases.

Aunt Irene really inclined to the view [of the creation of the world] expressed so cogently in the book of Genesis, which explained everything with appealing clarity. This was the only view that explained, for instance, mayonnaise. It was patently absurd to suppose that mayonnaise had come about through random chance, that anyone could ever have been silly or brilliant enough to predict what would happen if he slowly trickled oil on to egg yolks and then gone ahead and tried it. An angel must have divulged that recipe and then explained what to do with the left-over white. Meringues--there was another instance of the exercise of superhuman intelligence. To Aunt Irene the Ten Commandments seemed almost insignificant compared with the astonishing miracle of what you could do with an egg. As the angel had left in his fiery chariot he must have added, "And don't forget omelettes, and cake and custard and souffles and poaching and frying and boiling and baking. Oh, and they're frightfully good with anchovies. And you can use the shells to clarify soup--and don't forget to dig them in round the roots of your roses," the angelic tones fading into the ethereal distance.