What would he have told him

Everything was scattered like Christophe had thought. His unwavering sentences appeared, but his letter of correction never appeared, Gamache kindly tolerated him with greetings that he understood his generosity that such hesitation was in honor of Christoph; but he kept his own secret of the reasons for those Christophe’s troubles; and the false beliefs made by Christoph continued to circulate, leading to criticism first in French magazines, then in Germany, where they freted their minds: how could a German artist speak so inappropriately from his own country!

Christophe thought he was excellently inventive when he took advantage of the next interview, which was repelled by a reporter from another newspaper; In this interview he declared his love for the Deutsches Reich , for there was, he said, at least as free as in the French Republic. – He now spoke to an old magazine reporter, and it was because the interviewer immediately put his antirepublic opinions in his mouth.

– Get it to the source! Christophe said, seeing this writing.

Oh, what about music and politics to do?
– That’s the way we are, Olivier replied. Think about the battles around Beethoven. Others make him a Jacobin, others a priest, some Père Duchesnen, some liars of princes’ boots.

– Ah, what kind of kick he would give them all!

– Good, you do the same.

Christophe wanted to do that. But he was too sincere to the people who were friendly to him. Olivier never got peace by leaving Christophe alone. Because Christoph came to interview him, and even though Christophe promised to keep his money, he couldn’t stop himself from being open-minded and confident. Then he spoke all that screamed on his head. His apostates also became female journalists who claimed to be his friends and talked to him about his love affairs. Others used her as a spacer to bother some other well-known individuals. Whenever Olivier returned home, he met Christophe with a very bad mood.

– Have you ever been stupid? asked Olivier.

– Again, Christophe answered depressed.

– So you are absolutely helpless!

– Should be put behind the tents … But this time I promise it will be the last time.

– Of course, – until there is a new one …

– No, now it’s the last one.

The next day Christophe said in a victory for his friend:

– One more came. I drove him out.

– You shouldn’t go overboard, Olivier replied, Be wise with them. Those lives are very nasty. Bite if you defend yourself … It’s so easy to take revenge! They use even the smallest word that gets them shattered.

Christophe struck his forehead:

– Oh, good God.

– Well what now?

– I told him when I closed the door…

– What?

– The words of the Emperor.

– Emperor?

– Yeah, unless they’re him, someone close to him …

– Unhappy! You can now read them on the first page of the magazine.

Christophea shook. But the next day, he saw in the magazine a complete description of his apartment, which the newspaperman had not been able to enter, and the call that had not been between them.

The information about Christoph still became more and more popular. Foreign magazines increased the misunderstanding of their translators’ misconceptions. When the French magazines reported that Christophe reconciled music to guitar in his poverty, Christophe knew from an English newspaper that he had played guitar in the Parisian yard.

There was more than sweet in those magazines. Just another. It alone, the Le Grand Journalprotected Christoph, there was enough incitement to escape to other magazines. It was not worthy of them to admit that a competitor could invent a genius they had not known. Others spoiled the matter. Others conquered Christophe’s fate. Goujart was indignant that he was still late, and he wrote an article to “show the truth in the right light,” he said. He was familiar with his old friend Christoph, whose first steps he had directed in Paris: undeniably Christophe was a talented musician, but – (Goujart could say it because they were friends), – he had a lot of gaps in his civilization. She hadn’t got enough information, she wasn’t peculiar, she was proud of her: those who, in a ridiculous way, flattered his pride, even though he needed an understanding, capable, discerning, benevolent and harsh mentor, made him a bearer, etc. -: (all this description of Goujart). – The composer laughed once again. They deeply pretended to despise the artist that the newspapers propped up; they had vulgum pecus supposedly the greatest inhumation ; they refused to take care of Artaxerxe’s gifts that were not offered to them. Some of them despised Christoph in every way. Others frowned at him with the weight of their obsession. Some musicians annoyed Olivier about it – (they were critics, his colleagues). But it is difficult for people to forgive that they can get along without them. – Some almost hinted that Olivier had his own interest in Le Grand Journalarticles. There were some who started to defend Christoph against his friend: they pretended to mourn the fact that Olivier leaned lightly on a delicate, dreamer, and poorly populated artist, Christophea, – Markkinator’s mute, where he would help Christophea as a little boy there were not enough men to travel around the world on their own. They said that I had ruined the whole future of a person whose goodwill and hard work would have deserved better treatment than such false incense, even though he had no gifts. It was a very unpleasant thing for them. Couldn’t he now be allowed to be silent, work hard still for many useful years? Olivier could have answered them:

– To be able to work, he must be eaten. Who gives him bread?

But it didn’t amaze them. They would have answered calmly at least:

– It’s a side affair. Must suffer. And what is the disadvantage of small suffering?

Of course, such stoic theories were proclaimed by the members of the fine, those who had no financial worries. Just like another millionaire said to a simple soul who asked him for help from a poor artist:

– But, sir, Mozart died of poverty.

They wouldn’t have been in place if Olivier had answered them that Mozart wanted to live and that Christophe had decided to live.

Christophe began to get bored with those staggers in their stairs. He wondered if it would last forever. – But it ended in two weeks. The newspapers were no longer talking about him. However, he was known. He mentioned his name, said nothing:

– He is the author of David and Gargantua ,

but:

– Ah, a Grand Journalist !

It was fame.

Olivier noticed the fame of the letters that came to Christoph, even to himself, that is, tours: they had libretto authors’ bids, concert contractor suggestions, warm-hearted insurances from new friends who were a few enemies before, and women’s invitations. She was questioned about all sorts of things when she was interviewing newspapers: she was asked about Olivier’s idea of ​​a decline in French population, ideal art, women’s corsets; he was thinking of the nudity on the stage, and he didn’t believe that Germany was swirling, the end of the music, etc. Olivier and Christophe laughed together to learn. But while Christophe considered this to be a lullaby, he did not, hesitantly, agreed to go to some dinner invitations! Olivier had no faith in his eyes.

– You? he asked.

– Just me, Christophe replied wisely. Did you think that here other than you should go to see beautiful women? Don’t Believe, Knife! Now is my turn! I want to have fun!

– Have fun? Oh man-well! The thing was that Christophe had lived so long in seclusion that he suddenly had an irresistible desire to get out of it. And besides, he unexpectedly gave him the honor of being naive and humorous. Otherwise, he was overwhelmed by these evening nights, and the people there were idiots. But when he came home, he claimed to his friend that he was just the opposite. He went to the stranger but not more than once to the same place. To combat the new invitations, he invented crazy excuses, astonishingly unscrupulous pretexts. Olivier considered his behavior to be desperate. Christophe laughed at the bottom of the heart. She did not go to those salons to laugh at her self-confidence, but to renew her life stock, get more glimpses of her museum, noises, people’s movements are the material of the forms, sounds and colors that the artist needs to enrich a little bit of his palette. The musician does not get food just from the music. The nuance of the heard, the rhythm of movement, the harmony of the smile adds more music to him than the whole symphony of a composer. But it must be acknowledged that in those salons, the music of the face and soul is usually as dull and slightly varied as the music of many composers. Each has its own maner, which he freezes. The smile of a pretty woman in her learned and thoughtful fancy is just as stereotypical as some Parisian melody. Men are even more stupid than women. Due to the weakening effect of grinding, the posture is boring, the peculiar character diminishes and disappears, even at a terrible rate. Christophe was ashamed when he saw how many dead or dying he was there among the artists: he or the young musician who had both strength and genius, but whose success had been bored and made upset, no longer thought about pulling his nostrils into poisoning, or enjoying and landing . An image of how such a man would develop after twenty years was seen at the other end of the hall, in the form of an old, perfume-perfume, rich and famous tuner who was a member of the academy and his career on the hill; he didn’t need to be afraid of anything, if he did, but he nevertheless hated everything and everyone, feared public opinion, mighty men, the press, and never dared to say what he thought; or he no longer thought of anything, barely even there,

It might have been certain that behind all those artists and intelligentsia who had once been great or could still have been there, there was a woman who took power from them. All women were dangerous here: as foolish as those who were not stupid, so love as those who did not love other than themselves; the best of them were just the worst: for they stifled their impetuous affection under the candlestick for the artist even more confidently than others, trying to tame the genius as a home being in all their sincerity, adjusting it to their own spirit, smoothing it out, pruning the branches, cool, perfuming until the man was their own their lack of consciousness, their small vanity, and the mediocrity of them and those social circles.

Although Christophe just injected in this world, he saw enough to notice its dangers. Of course, many women tried to capture her in her salon, to serve herself; and Christophe was sometimes caught up in the hooks of lovable words and promising smiles. Had he not had such a clear, common sense, and unless the changes he saw in these men of the modern Kirke witches had been scared of him, he would not have been saved from playing with skin. But he did not really pay the price to increase the shepherd’s shepherd’s flock of women. The danger would have been greater for her if the women were not so eager to catch her. Today, when they and the whole world were convinced that there was a genius among them they all tried to suffocate it. Such beings have one idea when they see the flower: put it in a vase; – Bird: Get it in a cage, – Free man: Make him a valiant day-old boy.

Christophe’s head intervened for a moment, but it got to the point, and he didn’t care about any of them.

Fate is often strangely disgusted by people. It lets the careless and thoughtless slip away from the harbor; but one who is wise and cautious and knows threatening dangers will mess it up with his traps. Christophe did not get caught up in this authentic Parisian satin, but Olivier left it.

A friend’s success was beneficial to him. Christophe’s reputation rushed to him. The fact that he was a man mentioned in three magazines who had invented Christophe had made him more famous than all the works he had written in six years. So he also got part of the guest invitations sent to Christoph; and he followed Christoph to them because he wanted to keep him in the eye. He must have taken his task so seriously that he did not have time to keep an eye on himself. Your favorite coward will see you close to him and jerk him in his loop.

The girl was small and light, lean and charming; the fine curls waved in small waves around the narrow and clear forehead; gorgeous eyebrows arched heavy-duty creatures; the eyes were blue as the winter flowers, the nose graceful and the nostrils oscillating, the elbows slightly dripping, the jaw gnawing, the mouth alive, the intelligent and the loving, its slightly uplifting; The smile was a smile of a small, fairly pure Faun. His neck was long and slender, his body was pretty, the body was elegant; in his being there was something happy and at the same time worried; the youthfulness that hid in it the awakening and poetic mystery of the spring, – Frühlingserwachen, – His name was Jacqueline Langeais.

Jacqueline hadn’t completed twenty yet. He was a child of the Catholic family, rich, valued, and free thinkers. His father was an intelligent and inventive engineer, open to new ideas; he had created a good position for himself through his work, political relations, and marriage. At the same time, the covenant was a marriage of love and money (the only true love for his free men); The wife was a pretty and pretty Parisian woman, chosen from the money world. The money was left, but love had gone. There were, however, a few rundowns on it: it had been on both sides of the day. Now, however, they no longer imagine each other’s excessive loyalty. Either of them would go about things and their own amusements;

The daughter was their liaison and, at the same time, their controversial jealousy: for they loved her both passionately. Each of them saw herself in her own, with their own pearls, but adorable, in the child’s whole adoration; and they tried insidiously to deprive the child of each other. The girl, of course, had noticed the fact that she was innocent, as if at least those little creatures with an absolute tendency to think that the whole world was rotating around them; and the child took advantage of that competition. He put his parents in a low-key position to buy his affection by auction. There was no shortcut he didn’t know he could satisfy, if not with the help of another, at least one; and when he rejected one of them, it was rejected so regretted that he offered the point even more than the first. The child was indecently pampered;

Even though Mr and Mrs Langeais adored her daughter, they would not have sacrificed any personal comfort for her. They left her alone at home for a large part of the day, first filling up all her thousand and one minded. The time of dreaming was by no means absent; nor did he leave his dream. Undeveloped and early, he had already received all kinds of guidance for dubious things about the reckless words he heard around him, (for the parental companionship was not too bitter); and so, at the age of six, she told her dolls about the small dive adventures of a husband, wife and lover. Obviously he didn’t mean anything bad about it. On the day he noticed some sort of feeling behind the words, the stories ended up on the dolls: he arrested them now. He had an unusual amount of innocent sensuality; it was distant from him as unseen watches, from somewhere, from afar, behind the ocean. Couldn’t know what was calling there. Sometimes the wind carried the echo from there; it came from what might have come, it surrounds the girl, and she then felt the blood rising to her cheeks, her breathing blocking her fear and melting. He didn’t understand that at all. And then it disappeared as it had come. Nothing separated any more. Hardly a cumin, an unobtrusive, blue echo. You only knew it was there, behind the mountains, and that you had to get there as soon as possible: there was happiness. Ah! Once you get there! it was distant from him as unseen watches, from somewhere, from afar, behind the ocean. Couldn’t know what was calling there. Sometimes the wind carried the echo from there; it came from what might have come, it surrounds the girl, and she then felt the blood rising to her cheeks, her breathing blocking her fear and melting. He didn’t understand that at all. And then it disappeared as it had come. Nothing separated any more. Hardly a cumin, an unobtrusive, blue echo. You only knew it was there, behind the mountains, and that you had to get there as soon as possible: there was happiness. Ah! Once you get there! it was distant from him as unseen watches, from somewhere, from afar, behind the ocean. Couldn’t know what was calling there. Sometimes the wind carried the echo from there; it came from what might have come, it surrounds the girl, and she then felt the blood rising to her cheeks, her breathing blocking her fear and melting. He didn’t understand that at all. And then it disappeared as it had come. Nothing separated any more. Hardly a cumin, an unobtrusive, blue echo. You only knew it was there, behind the mountains, and that you had to get there as soon as possible: there was happiness. Ah! Once you get there! and then he felt the blood rising to his cheeks, his breathing blocking out of fear and melting. He didn’t understand that at all. And then it disappeared as it had come. Nothing separated any more. Hardly a cumin, an unobtrusive, blue echo. You only knew it was there, behind the mountains, and that you had to get there as soon as possible: there was happiness. Ah! Once you get there! and then he felt the blood rising to his cheeks, his breathing blocking out of fear and melting. He didn’t understand that at all. And then it disappeared as it had come. Nothing separated any more. Hardly a cumin, an unobtrusive, blue echo. You only knew it was there, behind the mountains, and that you had to get there as soon as possible: there was happiness. Ah! Once you get there!

Waiting for access, he imagined all sorts of whimsy there would be. The most important thing for a little girl to do is now try to figure out what was there. She had another girl of the same age, Simone Adam, with whom she talked many times about these serious things. Each gave the other the illumination they had acquired: the twelve years of great experience, the information heard from others, and the secret of the books. As if standing on their toes and holding their claws on the rocks, those two little girls all tried to see over the old fort that hid their future. But even if they tried, and believed to see the cracks, they didn’t see anything at all. Their condition was a blend of innocence, poetic rage and Parisian irony. They chatted with terrible things without realizing their contents, and created whole worlds of simple facts. Jacqueline, who excavated all the corners without denying him, pushed her little nose into her father’s books. Fortunately, innocence was protected, and he was very tidy about the little girl’s instincts about bad bookbacks: he barely saw a little brutal scene or word, and he disgusted him; immediately he threw the book out of his hands; and so he’s in the middle of those insanely comrades like a frightened cat, jumping across the dirt, without getting stained. also pushed his little nose into his father’s books. Fortunately, innocence was protected, and he was very tidy about the little girl’s instincts about bad bookbacks: he barely saw a little brutal scene or word, and he disgusted him; immediately he threw the book out of his hands; and so he’s in the middle of those insanely comrades like a frightened cat, jumping across the dirt, without getting stained. also pushed his little nose into his father’s books. Fortunately, innocence was protected, and he was very tidy about the little girl’s instincts about bad bookbacks: he barely saw a little brutal scene or word, and he disgusted him; immediately he threw the book out of his hands; and so he’s in the middle of those insanely comrades like a frightened cat, jumping across the dirt, without getting stained.

Usually the novels were not fascinated by it: they were too clear and too dry. But the poems again brought his heart to heartbeat and hope that he would find a solution to his riddle – those poems that talked about love. They were as close to the little girl’s soul life. They did not see things, they were imagined, seen through the prism of lust or cataract; as if they were shaking off the crack of the old barn like Jacqueline himself. But they knew much more than Jacqueline, they knew everything they needed to know, and they surrounded the well-known with cute and mystical words that had to be opened out of their mouths with utmost care to be found … would find it… …

Those girls were tireless. They whispered to each other, in their spine with the feeling of shaking, poems that had been forged by Alfred de Musset or Sully-Prudhomme; they imagined the correct depths of corruption; they wrote them in their notebooks; they asked each other what the secret meaning of it or its part was, even though there was often no meaning. These thirteen-year-old ladies, innocent and at the same time ill, who knew nothing about love, argued with each other, semi-play, semi-serious, love, and delusion; and they were scratching at the school, in front of the teacher’s father’s eyes, – he was very temperate and overly polite old priest;

Laissez, oh! laissez-moi vous tenir enlacées,
Boire dans baisers des amours insensées,
Goutte à goutte et longtemps!…
“Let me squeeze you in my lap,
drink your wild love, a
splash of drops and a trick!”
They went to one of the finest schools in the finest districts where their teachers were university students. There they found the gods for the longing of their hearts. Almost all those little girls were in love with their teachers. It was not necessary that the teacher was young and not terribly ugly, so he was right in the hearts of the girls. Pupils worked like horses, each to reach out to their sultan’s attention. Long crying came when the girl got a bad number from her teacher – each of course, of course, because they didn’t care if one gave it. If he praised them, he was blushed and draped, creating grateful and cheerful eyes on him. And if he asked to come aside to give advice or congratulate him on his success, he was in heaven. There was no need to be a lion to attract those girls. When the gymnastics lesson took Jacqueline in his arms to lift him to trapeze, his color Jacqueline was like a fever. And what a raging struggle among the girls! How hot the secret gossip of jealousy! How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly: When the gymnastics lesson took Jacqueline in his arms to lift him to trapeze, his color Jacqueline was like a fever. And what a raging struggle among the girls! How hot the secret gossip of jealousy! How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly: When the gymnastics lesson took Jacqueline in his arms to lift him to trapeze, his color Jacqueline was like a fever. And what a raging struggle among the girls! How hot the secret gossip of jealousy! How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly: Color Jacqueline as Fever. And what a raging struggle among the girls! How hot the secret gossip of jealousy! How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly: Color Jacqueline as Fever. And what a raging struggle among the girls! How hot the secret gossip of jealousy! How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly: How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly: How humbly and glamorously looked at the teacher to get him out of the desperate rival! When the teacher just opened his mouth in an hour, so; the pen splashed correctly when copying his words. The girls did not try to understand the lesson, the most important thing was that the ancestor would not waste them. And just as they were writing, turning to a position that the image of the idol always stayed in front of their eyes, and that they could secretly watch his shape and every movement, Jacqueline and Simone asked each other quietly:

– Do you think he would have a blue tie?

In addition to the above-mentioned good things were beautiful color pictures, romantic and fine poetry books, fashionable poetic gravies, falling in love with actors, play artists, dead or still living writers: , on the streets, as well as the quick passions that are instantly realized in the imagination, – the inevitable need to “cuddle” unceasingly, always be full of love, get some excuse to love. Jacqueline and Simone believed each other all their things: a clear testimony that they didn’t know much; it was also the best way to make the feeling never get too deep. Instead, this state became a chronic disease that they themselves mocked at first, but they did what they did and prolonged with the greatest care. They both lived in a steady passion. Simone was more romantic and more rational and invented more and more of all the fantasies of imagination, but Jacqueline, who was more honest and passionate in nature, was more willing to implement them. Hundreds of times he had to do the worst stupid things. – But he didn’t do them any more than the young people did. There will be moments when those little, stupid fools – (we’ve all been) – will be thrown into others by suicide, others will first get into their arms. But God’s thanks, almost all those intentions, will remain there. Jacqueline scratched a dozen passionate letters to the men she could hardly see; but he didn’t send them as one, a wretched letter to which he did not mark his name, a rum, a shrewd-day critic who was selfish in nature, dry-hearted and cramped. Jacqueline was in love with her because of the line she had seen in her reviews, in which she had noticed infinite emotion. Likewise, he flared to a great actor: the actor lived near his home; Every time Jacqueline passed her door, she snapped herself: the actress lived near her home; Every time Jacqueline passed her door, she snapped herself: the actress lived near her home; Every time Jacqueline passed her door, she snapped herself:

– If I went in!

And once he became so brave that he was already in his front. But he barely got there, so he escaped. What would he have told him? He had nothing to him, nothing to say. He didn’t love him. He knew it well. In his madness, there was always half the self-deception he saw. And the other half was a loving, loving, sweet and sensual longing. When Jacqueline was a very intelligent race, she noticed this by itself. However, it didn’t prevent him from being crazy. The crazy person who knows himself is two crazy.

Jacqueline often went in the stranger circles. There he was always surrounded by young men who got into the glamor of his mettle and many of whom fell in love with him. He did not love them alone, but he bragged with everyone. He didn’t come to think about what evil he might have done in that way. A beautiful girl has a love for cruel play. It is natural for him to be loved, and he does not think he has any responsibilities other than the one he loves himself; Almost he might think that the one who loves him is already happy enough from his feeling. In his defense, he must say that he does not know what love is, even though he thinks of it from morning to night. Often imagined that the young, a sophisticated girl grown in a fierce atmosphere of a big city is more mature than a country girl; but the opposite is true. The books, the pagans with numerous comrades have, in fact, accelerated in him the submissive lemmenpalas, which, due to his idle life, often humble the limits of mania; it happens so much that he pretends to read the whole thing he wants to know in advance and knows it from word to word. But still he doesn’t feel that in his heart. In love as well as in art, there is no trick to letting what others have talked about, but to talk about what you know; and one who speaks to speak before he has anything to speak of may not be able to say anything. The Pakins with numerous comrades have, in fact, accelerated in him the submissive lemmen palm, which, due to his idle life, often hugs the limits of mania; it happens so much that he pretends to read the whole thing he wants to know in advance and knows it from word to word. But still he doesn’t feel that in his heart. In love as well as in art, there is no trick to letting what others have talked about, but to talk about what you know; and one who speaks to speak before he has anything to speak of may not be able to say anything. The Pakins with numerous comrades have, in fact, accelerated in him the submissive lemmen palm, which, due to his idle life, often hugs the limits of mania; it happens so much that he pretends to read the whole thing he wants to know in advance and knows it from word to word. But still he doesn’t feel that in his heart. In love as well as in art, there is no trick to letting what others have talked about, but to talk about what you know; and one who speaks to speak before he has anything to speak of may not be able to say anything. In love as well as in art, there is no trick to letting what others have talked about, but to talk about what you know; and one who speaks to speak before he has anything to speak of may not be able to say anything. In love as well as in art, there is no trick to letting what others have talked about, but to talk about what you know; and one who speaks to speak before he has anything to speak of may not be able to say anything.

So Jacqueline was in the middle of the dust of the other emotions she experienced, as usually always young girls, the dust that prevented her from seeing things as real, kept her like a little fever, her hands burning, her throat dry, her eyes inflamed. He thought they felt. He had no good will for it. He both read and listened. He had learned a lot from here, sparkling, adult stories and books. He tried to explore himself. He was better than the circle in which he lived. He was more honest.