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Updated: June 29, 2025
A woman at a table in the corner, with dead white skin and drugged staring eyes, kept laughing hoarsely, leaning her head, in a hat with bedraggled white plumes, against the wall. There was a constant jingle of plates and glasses, and an oily fume of food and women's clothes and wine. "D'you want to know what I really did with your friend?" said Heineman, leaning towards Andrews.
The white-faced woman in the corner cried "Bravo, Bravo," in a shrill nightmare voice. Heineman bowed, his big grinning face bobbing up and down like the face of a Chinese figure in porcelain. "Lui est Sinbad," he cried, pointing with a wide gesture towards Henslowe. "Give 'em some more, Heinz. Give them some more," said Henslowe, laughing.
On the opposite wall was a confused mass of canvases piled one against the other, leaning helter skelter against the slanting wall of the room. "C'est le bon vin, le bon vin, C'est la chanson du vin," chanted Heineman. Everybody settled themselves on couches.
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