By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. ‘Jacques, where are you hurt?’ But as she asked the question, she saw the wound. She thought about just asking him to take 116 her to his place and get it over with, but she reconsidered and decided to attempt to get to know him better. You’ll end there one day, mark my words. It’s to do with adolescence.
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