Like most men, Sherman was innocent of the routine salutatory techniques of the fashionable hostesses. For at least forty-five seconds every guest was the closest, dearest, jolliest, most wittily conspiratorial friend a girl ever had. Every male guest she touched on the arm {any other part of the body presented problems} and applied a little heartfelt pressure. Every guest, male or female, she looked at with a radar lock upon the eyes, as if captivated {by the brilliance, the wit, the beauty, and the incomparable memories}.
( Tom Wolfe )
[ The Bonfire of the Vanities ]
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