He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail. —Metempsychosis? —Yes. Who's he when he's at home? —Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It's Greek: from the Greek. That means the transmigration of souls. —O, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words. The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Better remind her of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example? The 'Bath of the Nymph' over the bed. Given away with the Easter number of Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before you put milk in. He turned the pages back. —Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. They used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for instance. What they called nymphs, for example. Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her, inhaling through her arched nostrils. —There's a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the fire?