Mrs. Glass blinked her eyes, just once, and Zooey instantly looked away from her face. He bent over and fished his razor out of the waste-basket. “We’re freaks, the two of us, Franny and I”, he announced, standing up. “I’m a twenty-five-year-old freak and she’s a twenty-year-old freak, and both those bastards are responsible”. He put his razor on the edge of the washbowl, but it slid obstreperously down into the bowl. He quickly picked it out, and this time kept it in the grasp of his fingers. “The symptoms are a little more delayed in Franny’s case than mine, but she’s a freak, too, and don’t you forget it. I swear to you, I could murder them both without even batting an eyelash. The great teachers. The great emancipators. My God. I can’t even sit down to lunch with a man anymore and hold up my end of a decent conversation. I either get so bored or so goddam preachy that if the son of a bitch had any sense, he’d break his chair over my head”. He suddenly opened the medicine cabinet. He stared rather vacuously into it for a few seconds, as though he had forgotten why he opened it, then put his undried razor in its place on one of the shelves.

J. D. Salinger