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Updated: May 19, 2025
The story of my hopes would have tinkled in his ears like the blarings of a child's trumpet. But in one matter he questioned me. "Your wife, should you not have brought her with you, monsieur?" I felt piqued. "But her comfort, Father Nouvel!" He looked me over. "I think somehow that she would prefer your company to her own comfort," he said, and when I did not answer he looked troubled.
Of all the steps and runs, of all the whimsical turns and twirlings, of all the rhythmic swayings and dips commanded that season by such blarings as were the barbaric product, loud and wild, of the Jazz Louies and their half-breed bunches, the thin and sallow youth was a master.
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