But the damage had been done. At the word "coffee" a grotesque marionette opened the bedroom door and minced in with two steaming cups on a tray, swinging them artfully so that they appeared likely to spill, but didn't.

For some years, now, that dance had left Janet unamused. She was about to say so when Les growled, "These darned dolls are a nuisance. I wish you'd order a plain, automatic dispenser!"  "They're even more boring," Janet argued, sitting up. Her gauzy film-dress and sleepy face made her look appealingly childlike. She was fifty-five.

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