the girl fell more in love with Henri than ever, and the
two made up their quarrel and agreed that when Henri
came out of jail he should buy a taxi and they would
marry and settle down. But a fortnight later the girl was
unfaithful again, and when Henri came out she was with
child. Henri did not stab her again. He drew out all his
savings and went on a drinking-bout that ended in
another month's imprisonment; after that he went to
work in the sewers. Nothing would induce Henri to talk.
If you asked him why he worked in the sewers he never
answered, but simply crossed his wrists to signify
handcuffs, and jerked his head southward, towards the
prison. Bad luck seemed to have turned him half-witted
in a single day.
Or there was R., an Englishman, who lived six
months of the year in Putney with his parents and six
months in France. During his time in France he drank
four litres of wine a day, and six litres on Saturdays;
he had once travelled as far as the Azores, because the
wine there is cheaper than anywhere in Europe. He was a
gentle, domesticated creature, never rowdy or
quarrelsome, and never sober. He would lie in bed till
midday, and from then till midnight he was in his corner
of the bistro, quietly and methodically soaking. While he
soaked he talked, in a refined, womanish voice, about
antique furniture. Except myself, R. was the only
Englishman in the quarter.