He lives in constant dread of a reappearance of ‘La Belle Alcide,’ and hearing it said that she is his wife’s sister. The taste of his sweat was intoxicating, like sweet brandy, like blood. She turned the television off. But at this point he was still subservient, still outwardly humble, in spite of the blackhearted villainy that was even then burgeoning in his breast. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him. I had two offers of marriage from men I liked very much indeed, but it never occurred to me to listen to either of them.
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