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Updated: May 23, 2025
"Vic!" "Yes?" "Do you know what Faina means?" "Of course I do!" "Do you think it a nice name?" "Not particularly." "Well, it's better than Grille d'Egout anyway, isn't it?" "About on a par, I should say." "How many frills do you think she had on her petticoat?" "Oh, I don't know forty!" "No; four. I counted them. Her figure is not much up atop, but her" "Oh, stow all that!"
"I've brought you something," he said, and he thrust suddenly into my hand under my eyes a photograph. My glance fell full on it, and I saw distinctly what it was a full-length figure of the danseuse Faina. Traditionally, perhaps, I ought to have flung it into the fire any way the grate or torn it up.
"Faina sent it to you with her love, and an invitation to supper to-night after the last 'turn," replied Howard, rolling a cigarette, sticking it with his lips, and looking at me over it. "Oh! really?" I said, drily. "Why, Victor, you've quite coloured up!" said Howard with a sort of derisive triumph. I felt I had. Why? I can hardly say.
You say it's not a question of Lucia then what the dickens is it that makes you live the life you do?" I did not answer him. I leant in silence against the mantelpiece, staring absently at the portrait of Faina, and Howard got tired of waiting for my answer. He went to dress, and I sat down at the writing-table, absently sketching women's heads on my blotting paper. Should I go with him or not?
No wonder you're mixed yourself!" "Can't stand it!" he only muttered again. "No, you must sit it out or sleep it off now," I said, getting up with a stretch. "Faina in good form?" "Magnificent Vic, you should have been there!" "Thanks! yes, I think so!" I said, gathering up the precious pages from the floor and table and piling them on a console.
"Do you know that kissing song Embrasse moi?" I nodded. "Don't you think it awfully fetching? I like that refrain so much Embrasse moi, chumph! chumph! and then the orchestra exactly imitates the sound of a kiss then Encore une fois!! chumph! chumph! Don't you?" "Yes; it isn't bad." Silence. "Victor!" "What?" "La Faina was there to-night!" "Oh!" "Do you know her?" "I've heard of her." Silence.
I gave the photograph of Faina, which still stood up against the wall, a flick that sent it horizontal on the marble, and then, with Lucia's eyes just above me, I sat down to write. Seven o'clock came, and the bright light pouring into the room over the table covered with loose sheets of paper found me writing still.
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