After dinner, Forcheville went up to the Doctor. "She can't have been at
all bad looking, Mme. Verdurin; anyhow, she's a woman you can really talk
to; that's all I want. Of course she's getting a bit broad in the beam.
But Mme. de Crecy! There's a little woman who knows what's what, all
right. Upon my word and soul, you can see at a glance she's got the
American eye, that girl has. We are speaking of Mme. de Crecy," he
explained, as M. Verdurin joined them, his pipe in his mouth. "I should
say that, as a specimen of the female form--"
"I'd rather have it in my bed than a clap of thunder!" the words came
tumbling from Cottard, who had for some time been waiting in vain until
Forcheville should pause for breath, so that he might get in his hoary old
joke, a chance for which might not, he feared, come again, if the
conversation should take a different turn; and he produced it now with
that excessive spontaneity and confidence which may often be noticed
attempting to cover up the coldness, and the slight flutter of emotion,
inseparable from a prepared recitation. Forcheville knew and saw the joke,
and was thoroughly amused.
Pages:
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509