Mrs. Veliociraptor was having Mrs. Utahraptor over for some incredibly
pleasant afternoon tea. The scones were fresh and smelled of blueberries
and strife and the sugar-cubes were just old enough that they gave off the
most delicate moaning noise when separated.

"Rather afraid the mice got to the cake. Left it on the lower shelves
by mistake."

"Oh, bother!" Mrs. Utahraptor replied. "That was the cake you were telling
Mrs. Pterodactyl about, weren't you? A post-structuralist screed with a
frosting of hedge funds?"

"No. I made that cake last month for the widow of ol' Mrs. Smilodon, rest
her soul. No, this one was a long brown one--hazelnuts, cinnamon, and
mondegreens of songs you heard from your parents' room when you were 
young and have never heard since."

"Mrs. Deionychus has a good one. It's fear, hanging cadence and possible
lovers who have forgotten your face and whose sudden unexpected appearance
on the street drowns you in a flood of possible realities just out of
reach of a time you can barely remember."

"Ooh, that *was* a good one. I liked her almond, too."

They talked for a while longer, but before long their speech was 
mathematical symbols, so who knows what they were saying for sure?