My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. ‘You are not sympathique in the very least. In the first place there were not so many suitable advertisements as she had expected. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. Then she uttered a strangled, ‘Espéce de bête!’ and burst into tears. Why had he offered her that kiss on board The Tigress? Perhaps that had been his hour of disenchantment. I picked up her handkerchief on the floor.
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