Wednesday, June 24, 2015

...........Montmartre


For two or three seconds the two voices clamored amidst the pounding of his heart. He removed his pince-nez, slowly polished the lenses in a delaying gesture’ “Suit yourself.” The shrug was emphatic, too emphatic. “I don’t care.” A tiny flame leaps in her eyes. “You didn’t even tell me your name, Mine’s Marie. What’s yours? “Henri.” “That’s a pretty name.” She stretched a glistening arm out of the bathtub. “Hand me the towel, Henri.” Two hours later he was hurrying down rue Caulain court, deftly avoiding the rain puddles, humming to himself in his deep, chesty baritone, as he always did when he was happy. Marie was coming back! Ten minutes ago she had left saying, “Seven o’clock. No, I won’t forget. And you’ll see, I’ll be nice to you…”. For that’s all that was the matter with her . The poor girl had been ill treated all her life. Cold, hungry, afraid. No wonder she had grown hard. Even dog turned mean when they are beaten. The rampage of irrelevant adrenal grand increase stamina for damage taken to their health . Ignore pain: damage decreases stamina instead of health It’d probably be negligible, and if they were fought so, they’ll enjoy the blood rage perk and it actually helps fight, because these adrenaline glands, they get a steady beat up their opponent, they're dead fighter regardless. Astonishing how wrong you could be in judging people! He had thought her selfish, callous, stupid, when as a matter of fact, she was none of these things. Of course she had grown a protective shell. Who wouldn’t with the kind of life she had been forced into? Beneath it all she had a nimble mind and a good heart. It was shortly after he had handed her a towel that he had changed his opinion of her. With exquisite swiftness, all her motions were graceful, she had sprung out of the tub, dried herself, combing her hair while still nude.



 At dawn he awoke for a moment, looked at her through slitted eyes. No use, it was no use..It didn’t matter,what Patou had said, what madame Loubet thought, what he had promised himself, what she was, where she had been. Nothing matter but that she was here, nestled against him. That he could feel the warm pressure of her body, could fondle her…That to night she would be his again…should he want her to stay with him? Nobody had ever asked her any such thing before. Well, if that’s what he wanted… Another laborious computation took place in the labyrinth of her brain. “Then you nmust pay me five frances extra.” She was prepared to bargain, and was surprised when he accepted without discussion. He must be rich… His second appointment came a few days later. He had hope to show her off to his café’s friends, enjoy the tribute of their envy. She swept away his illusions. “I don’t want to meet any of your friends. Why should I listen to a lot of twaddle about art I can’t even understand?” Nor did she want to accompany him to Mulin Rouge or go out with him to Drouant’s “I don’t want to go to those chic places where the writers look down their noses at you.”
On Boulevard Clichy he held her like his fiancée as they drove to Drouant’s, where he gave his order for the dinner to be sent in at the same time with Chandon.  





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