The search for comfort

Is there something like this? — or is it just a sex fervor for the occasion? — On all occasions, that is the amount of what these

animals know.

Do they ever consider anything other than arranging a new adventure for themselves or a new benefit?

I can't currently comprehend how a man, at any point, weds one of them, offers his name and his distinction in such an unsafe

keeping. I guess I ought to have been as simple a prey as the rest. Be that as it may, not presently—II have an excessive amount of opportunity to think,

and dread. I appear to discover a few ulterior motives in anything individuals say or do.

Today, I had lunch with another American, a bright girl who was an heiress of the sunny, jolly variety. Before the war, she was a good person who I often danced with. She explained to me quite naturally that she was polishing the thigh bone of a German prisoner into an umbrella handle. She had helped with the amputation, and the man later passed away. "A really cute souvenir," she assured me, it would be!

Are all of us mad?

No big surprise, the best and best "go West. When all of these vile beings have been lost to time, will they return as the souls of a new race? I trust in God...

These French ladies partake in their crepe shroud, their high-obeyed shoes, and their short dark skirts; even a cousin is

close to enough for the features of misfortune. — Could any of us, at any point, feel trouble now? I think not.

Yet again, Maurice has his purposes. Were I a man, I ought to disdain Maurice. He is such a great animal, such a giver.

holder of one of the extremely rich—and devoted as well. Does he not pander to my every extravagant desire and acquire me whatever I

immediately want?

What a difference a complete murder would have made! I detest myself and the world.

Once, before the conflict, doing up to this level caused me joy. to learn English fluently in Paris! I had been exploited to the fullest extent by every antique dealer in London. Even though I paid a lot of money for it, each piece is a treasure. I'm not exactly certain.

presently how I intended to manage it when it was done, possess it when I came to Paris, or loan it to companions? — I don't recollect—

Presently, it appears to be a mausoleum where I can resign my mutilated body and sit tight for the end.

Nina once proposed to remain with me here; nobody ought to be aware, Nina. Would she come now? How might they venture to make

This commotion at the entryway—what's going on here? — Nina!

Sunday—it was Nina herself—Unfortunate, dear Nicholas," she said. "The most thoughtful destiny sent me across—II 'wangled' a

visa—truly difficult conflict work, and here I am for a fortnight. Even in wartime, one should get a couple of garments.

I could see I was an extraordinary shock to her; my fascination for her had gone; I was simply unfortunate, dear Nicholas," and she started

to be protective—NNina nurturing!— She would have been irate at the general concept once. Nina is 39 years old; her

The kid has quite recently gone into the flying corps, and she is so happy the conflict will soon be finished.

She cherishes her son.

She gave me fresh insight into the world—our old universe of inactive futility, which is currently one of strong work.

"Very foolish of you; why have you cut yourself off from everything and everyone since you first went out to fight?"

"At the point when I was a man and could battle, I enjoyed battling, and at absolutely no point did I ever need to see any of you in the future. I spent my vacations either in the country or here because I thought you were all rotten. I am rotten, while you appear to be glorious beings. I'm no utilization by any stretch of the imagination."

Nina came near me and touched my hand.

"Unfortunate sweetheart, Nicholas," she said once more.

Something hurt terribly, as I understood that contacting me currently caused her no rush. No lady will at any point excite me again when I'm

close.

Indeed, Nina is an expert on clothing! She is the best-dressed Englishwoman I have ever seen. She has functioned admirably.

For the conflict as well, I hear, she merits her fortnight in Paris.

"Nina, what are you going to do?" I asked her.

Every night, she went to the theater and dined with a lot of delicious "red tabs" whose work was over there, people she hadn't seen in a long time.

Nicholas: "I'm just going to frivol; I'm tired of working."

Nothing could surpass her graciousness—a mother's benevolence.

I attempted to check out all that she said, but it seemed so far away. as if I were talking to myself in a dream.

She would, of course, continue working at her job during the war when she returned, but she, like everyone else, is exhausted from the war.

"Furthermore, when harmony comes—it will before long come now, presumably—what then?"

"I think I will get married again."

I bounced—II had never examined the chance of Nina's wedding; she has forever been a bereaved organization, with her

decent house on Sovereign Road, and that great cook.

"What in heaven's name is this for?"

"I want one man's companionship and devotion."

"Anybody in view?"

"Indeed, a couple say there is a lack of men; I have never known such countless men in my day-to-day existence."

Then, at that point, by and by, when she had completed her tea, she said:

"You are totally out of stuff, Nicholas. Your voice is scratching, your comments are unpleasant, and you should be a 

troubled, unfortunate kid."

I told her that I was—there was no use in lying.

"Everything is done," I said, and she twisted down and kissed me as she bid farewell—a mother's kiss.

And now that I'm by myself, what should I do throughout the evening? or every other night? I will send Suzette to feast.

Suzanne was funny, so I told her right away that I didn't need her to be affectionate.

"You can rest from blandishments for the evening, Suzette."

"Merci!—and afterward she extended herself, kicked up her little feet in their short-vamped, podgy little shoes, with four-inch

heels, and lit a cigarette.

She told me, "Life is hard, Mon Ami," and "It is hard to keep from falling in love now that the English are here."

She had taken me seriously when I told her that I did not require any blandishments, and I warmed to the thought that she might suggest that I had awakened her reflection.

I felt that dreadful twinge once more.

"You like the English?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

She sighed, "They are very bons garçons, clean, and fine men, and they also have sentiment—Yes, it is difficult not to feel."

"What do you do when you experience passionate feelings at that point, Suzette?"

"Mon ami, I quickly go for a fortnight to the ocean—one is lost on the off chance that one becomes hopelessly enamored in the metier—the man stomps on

then, at that point, — stomps on and sneaks off—for everything great one must never feel."

"Yet, you have a good nature, Suzette; do you feel for me?"

"Hein?" she asked, pointing to all of her tiny white teeth. "Thou? —Thou art very rich, mon chou." Ladies will continuously

feel for you!"

I said, "I was a very fine Englishman once," and it hit me like a knife.

"It is possible; thou art still, sitting, and showing the right profile—filled with chic—then rich, rich!"

"You were unable to fail to remember that I am rich, Suzette?"

"Assuming I did, I could cherish you, Jamais!"

"Also, does the ocean help to forestall an assault?" —

"Nonattendance—and I go to an unfortunate spot I knew when I was youthful, and I wash and cook, and cause myself to recall what

strive dure was—and would be once more assuming one cherished—BBah! that is enough. I return relieved and prepared exclusively to please, for example,

thou, Nicholas! Rich, rich!"

Also, she giggled again with her undulating gay snicker.

We had a charming night, and she let me know the historical backdrop of her life—or some of it. They were ever something very similar to Lucien's

Myrtle.

When every last bit of me is throbbing, will I also track down comfort on the off chance that I go to the ocean?

Who can say for sure?