.. I never will stay here for _la duree de
la guerre_. No--bahsht! To resume, that is why I need...."
(more than upright in the priceless bed--the twice streaming darkness of
his beard, his hoarse sweetness of voice--his immense perfect face and
deeply softnesses eyes--pouring voice)
"my wife sat over there, she spoke to No one and bothered Nobody--why was
my wife taken here and shut up? Had she done anything? There is a wife
who _fait la putain_ and turns, to everyone and another, whom I bring
another tomorrow ... but a woman who loves only her husband, who waits
for no one but her husband--"
(the tone bulged, and the eyes together)
"--_Ces cigarettes ne fument pas!_" I added an apology, having presented
him with the package. "Why do you shell out these? They cost fifteen
sous, you may spend for them if you like, you understand what I'm saying?
But some time when you have nothing" (extraordinary gently) "what then?
Better to save for that day ... better to buy _du tabac_ and _faire_
yourself; these are made of tobacco dust."
And there was someone to the right who was saying: "To-morrow is Sunday"
... wearily. The King, lying upon his huge quilt, sobbing now only a
little, heard:
"So--ah--he was born on a Sunday--my wife is nursing him, she gives him
the breast" (the gesture charmed) "she said to them she would not eat if
they gave her that--that's not worth anything--meat is necessary every
day .
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