\" She said, bashful. It worked. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. The night had swallowed him up, but his work on her was done. She could feel his penis pressing against her, half-erect under the starched black tuxedo pants. She looked up quickly. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Essentially the talk was a mixture of fragments of sentences heard, of passages read, or arguments indicated rather than stated, and all of it was served in a sauce of strange enthusiasm, thin yet intense. Her father became much less distant towards his only daughter in the days that followed. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats.
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