She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. There was a confused impression of livery carriages and whips with white favors, people fussily wanting other people to get in before them, and then the church. One night, she drew close to him in bed, trying to warm herself by embracing his back. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. “Listen,” she said. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk.
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