Poor Elaine Gruber. One might put her life story into a single paragraph. She designed climate control systems for aircraft, lived in a modest condominium, cooked her own meals, and swam to keep fit. In early adulthood, she developed a singular disorder. When she spoke, at unpredictable intervals she snorted. The snort was produced by an involuntary inhalation through both mouth and nose mid-sentence, often mid-word, sounding something like the word ‘hick’. As one might imagine, this unfortunate personal habit was discomfiting to listeners. But what made it truly noteworthy was the fact that

Ms. Gruber was perfectly unaware of it. Not only was she unable to perceive her own snorting, but, whenever someone was both kindly disposed and forward enough to mention it, she could not understand them. Their words would, to all outward appearance, pass her by unmarked; her only reaction might be a defocusing of the gaze, from which she emerged after the briefest interval. Unsurprisingly, she was not a popular woman. New acquaintances gave her polite leeway at first, suspended judgment as long as they were able, and eventually avoided her; co-workers made semi-tacit jests not intended to elicit laughter; waiters, cashiers, and civil servants frowned and dealt with her promptly, then found other things to busy themselves with. She had a few permanent friends, none impressive characters themselves, and for this she quite unfairly scorned them. Elaine Gruber was aware of her ill fit with the world but never ascertained its cause. She didn’t finish as a suicide, nothing so dramatic, but wended toward the end of life perplexed and disengaged. She was not a dull-witted woman: plenty intelligent enough to realize that things were not with her as they were with others, but never understanding why.