"It was no longer a surprise to him that every one of the women he met was a Madeline: short in a certain way, crowned with reddish hair. His type, it seemed, was very specific. He was incapable of loving a woman who was not a Madeline, the way that some men can only love short women, women of a certain nationality, or women with a certain kind of accent. He was addicted to Madelines the way some men were addicted to pornography, or even prostitution, though of course Everett was nothing like these men: there was nothing sordid about his many Madelines."