be. I o a loving sensitivity I  o suspected in e spiral staircase to my bedroom; before sly vanis ive Breton. t I did not understand. t o interpret.

    And tary matrimonial bed, itself t, of my little room at s surfaces of ebony, vermilion lacquer, gold leaf; and its ains, billoately frames of contorted gold, t reflected more o greet t multitude of girls I saical in tailor-mades, for travelling, madame, or hing.

    quot;See,quot; uring to girls. quot;I ;

    I found t I rembling. My breat meet urned my  of pride, out of sceasingly, unfasten ttons of my jacket and slip it from my s; and next t linen t cost more t communion. tside in ttered on s seemed to me deliberately coarse, vulgar. to my face again, and stayed there.

    And yet, you see, I guessed it mig ered as my life o s of his world?

    ripped me, gourmand t ripping tic do not imagine muc it; ticicular treat for t in any greedy e. reat ite. And , palpitating core remained, I sacion  permitted us to be alone togeticklike limbs, naked but for ton boots,  repository of y; and tailoring; s pornograpations. And so my purc t seen my fles to feel myself stirring.

    At once  of  meant he smiled.

    Not yet. Later. Anticipation is ter part of pleasure, my little love.

    And I began to s also  botrange, impersonal arousal at t of love and at time a repugnance I could not stifle for e,  oo muc filled my bedroom in great glass jars, takers lilies  poe  are ain you.

    tuarys life ly terminated.