If he only knew! If suspicion comes
out right and it's proved--well, there, he'll jostle the door-jamb of a
jail."
Jean Jacques stared after the man, and somehow every nerve in his body
became angry. He had all at once a sense of hatred. He shook the shoulder
against which the man had collided. He remembered the leer on the
insolent, handsome face.
"I'd like to see him thrown into the river," said Virginie Poucette's
sister. "We have a nice girl here--come from Ireland--as good as can be.
Well, last night--but there, she oughtn't to have let him speak to her.
'A kiss is nothing,' he said. Well, if he kissed me I would kill him--if
I didn't vomit myself to death first. He's a mongrel--a South American
mongrel with nigger blood."
Jean Jacques kept looking after the man. "Why don't you turn him out?" he
asked sharply.
"He's going away to-morrow anyhow," she replied. "Besides, the girl,
she's so ashamed--and she doesn't want anyone to know. 'Who'd want to
kiss me after him' she said, and so he stays till to-morrow. He's not in
the tavern itself, but in the little annex next door-there, where he's
going now. He's only had his meals here, though the annex belongs to us
as well. He's alone there on his dung-hill."
She brought Jean Jacques into a room that overlooked the river--which,
indeed, hung on its very brink.
Pages:
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319