With my right hand, I moved up and down as the girls milk the cows. I looked down at his naked limb. He uttered some inarticulate words. Suddenly, as I looked, a stream of thick hot stuff shot out and fell in a shower all over my hand and arm. I worked away until the thing, covered with froth, slipped out of my hand.
"Now you must promise me that book as soon as you can get it, or I shall not come again to visit you."
"I am going tomorrow to the quais. No doubt I can get it there."
"Bonjour, alors. I will come for it the day after tomorrow."
"Ah, my sweet dove, then you shall learn something more; something very nice that all young ladies like very much."
"But I must have my book."
"Sans faute, au revoir?"
You-Eveline-the girl they all call so delicately beautiful, so refined that they say your noble and ancient blood stands out in your face and figure-you associate with such a being as this! A hunchback, whose ugly head lies deep between his shoulders, whose dwarfed stature barely exceeds four English feet, whose ungainly legs bow apart like the opposite staves of a barrel!
Yes-Eveline pleads guilty. In art it is the rule that all should be in good proportion; all must unite to form a pleasing similarity. In lust it is the reverse. Lust is fed by disparity. By incongruity and perversity. The tall man loves the little woman. The old man's senile passion is stimulated by the immature girl. The elderly lady takes a boy of twenty to her arms, and lavishes presents upon him so that his interest, if not his desire, should be involved. Endless requirements arise out of these anomalies. Then why should the gentle, the graceful, the elegant and the delicately bred and nurtured Eveline not find a similar stimulus in dalliance with a deformed but interesting hunchback? Eveline is perverse. If you do not believe it, please close these memoirs. They are not for you.
But at the same time, the hunchback is a strong man with a large limb. Eveline, even at that early age, had conceived a desire for strong men with large limbs.