Chapter 15 Chapter 5 One, Two, Three

I am procrastinating writing in Paris.Spring has been wonderful, the chestnut trees in the Rue d'Elysées are in bloom, and many streets are very well lit.There is a kind of happiness in the air, a kind of light and fleeting happiness, which makes people feel happy and not involved in evil thoughts, makes people walk more lightly and their minds are clearer.I had a great time with my motley friends, and my mind was filled with fond memories of the old days, and at least a little refreshed in spirit.I may never fully enjoy this momentary pleasure again; I would be a fool, I told myself, if I let writing interfere with me.

Isabelle, Gray, Larry and I used to go together to visit the places of interest in the suburbs: Chantilly and Versailles, Saint-Germain and Fontainebleau.Wherever we go, we eat a good lunch, lots of it.Gray has the biggest appetite as his bulky body demands, and tends to drink a little too much.His health must have improved, whether it was due to Larry's treatment, or simply the passage of time, I cannot say.In short, his headaches were gone.When I first met him when I came to Paris, the bewildered look in his eyes, which was so painful to watch, has disappeared now.He didn't talk much, except for the occasional long story, but he laughed when Isabel and I talked nonsense.He had a good time; and though he was not very funny, he was good-natured and easily satisfied, and one could not help disliking him.The kind of person you wouldn't want to spend a lonely evening with, and perhaps happily look forward to six months with.

His love for Isabelle is delightful to watch; he admires her beauty and thinks she is the most talented and charming woman in the world; his loyalty to Larry is like a dog to its master His loyalty is also touching. Larry was having a good time, too; he seemed to regard this time as a kind of vacation, allowing him to temporarily put aside the plans in his head-let alone the plans-and enjoy it in peace.He doesn't talk a lot, but it doesn't matter, being with him is almost like talking; he is very casual and always in such high spirits that you feel that this is enough and you don't need to ask him any more; And fully aware that all the happiness we have passed these days is due to having him with us.Though he never said a single touching or witty thing, it would be boring without him.

Once, on our way home from one of these excursions, I witnessed a scene which quite appalled me.We are coming back to Paris after playing Chartres.Gray drove and Larry sat next to him; Isabel and I sat in the back.After playing all day, I feel tired.Larry stretched out an arm over the back of the front seat.The position caused his cuffs to be pulled up, revealing his long, muscular wrists and slightly downy brown forearms.The sun turns those furs golden.Isabel was silent, so I noticed something was wrong here, so I glanced at her.She was so still that one might almost think she was hypnotized.

She was breathing heavily; her eyes were fixed on the strong golden downy wrist and the thin, long, powerful hand, and there was a hungering sensuality on her face that I never saw on any face. .It was a carnal mask.I never imagined that her beautiful features could express such indulgent coquettishness.It is bestiality, not human nature.All beauty was stripped from the face; the expression became ugly and hideous.It's horribly reminiscent of an amorous bitch, and I'm a little disgusted.She didn't feel my presence; all she felt was the hand that was casually resting on the back of the chair, making her horny.Then as if a spasm passed over her face, she shuddered, closed her eyes and leaned back against the corner of the car.

"Give me a cigarette," she said, her voice so hoarse I couldn't tell it was her. I took out the cigarette case and lit one for her.She smoked desperately.She looked out the window for the rest of the car's journey without saying a word. When Gray got home, he asked Larry to put me in the hotel and then drove the car into the workshop.Larry got into the driver's seat and I sat next to him.As they crossed the pavement, Isabel took Gray's arm, pressed close to him, and made a look at Gray; although I didn't see the look, I could guess what it meant.I think Gray will find his wife particularly fanatical this evening, but he will never know what guilt drives her to such fervor.

June is almost over and I have to go back to the Riviera.Some of Elliott's friends going to America had lent the Maturins their country house in Dinard, and he was going to leave as soon as the children were out of school.Larry stayed in Paris to work, but bought himself an old Citizen and promised to come and live with them for a few days in August.On the eve of my departure from Paris, I invited all three of them to dinner with me. On this very night, we met Sophie McDonald. two Isabel wanted to visit those tourist places; since I was more familiar with these places, I was asked to be their guide.I would rather not, because in places like Paris those people dislike tourists from America, and they don't hide it, so it tends to make people unhappy.But Isabel must go.I told her beforehand that it would be a disappointment, and that she must dress modestly.We had dinner very late, and went to the Fairy Amusement Hall[Note] to watch a play for an hour before setting off.I first took them to a basement near Notre Dame, where the gangsters and their families often go.Since the boss and I knew each other, he found a long table to give us a few empty seats; there were still a few unseemly people sitting at the long table, but I ordered a drink for everyone and wished each other health .It was hot, dirty and smoky inside.Later I took them to the Sphinx Ballroom; where the women, in their pretty tacky evening gowns with nothing on underneath, with boobs and all, sitting on two benches facing each other; Couples danced listlessly to their feet, their eyes searching the men at the marble-topped tables around the ballroom.We ordered a bottle of champagne that was not chilled.I don't know if some of the women who pass us give Isabelle such a hard look.

Later we went to Labai Road.It was a shabby and narrow alley; as soon as you entered the alley, it gave you an impression of obscenity and obscenity.We walk into a cafe.The piano player was the usual pale and rambunctious young man, another was an old and tired old man scratching the violin, and a third was playing the uncoordinated saxophone.The place was packed and it looked like there wasn't a single vacant table, but the boss saw that we were customers who were willing to spend money, and unceremoniously drove the couple to another table that was already occupied. , please sit down.The two dismissed guests were not reconciled, and made some very unflattering remarks concerning us.Quite a few people were dancing; sailors with red pompoms in their caps; skirt and color blouse.Men danced with pudgy boys with fake eyes; thin, menacing women danced with fat women with dyed hair; men danced with women.A stench of smoke mixed with alcohol and sweat.The music was playing endlessly, and this foul-smelling mess kept milling about the room, their faces glistening with sweat, and their solemnity tinged with something terrible.A few big ones were rough looking, but most were short and undernourished.I looked at the three musicians.They might as well be robots, since the playing is entirely mechanical; and I wondered if it was possible that at some point in the past, when they were just starting out, it occurred to me that perhaps people would come all the way to listen and The cheering musicians.Even if you play the violin very badly, you have to be taught and practiced: does this fiddler go to such great lengths just to play foxtrot in this stinking doghouse? Is it almost dawn?The music stopped, and the pianist wiped his face with a dirty handkerchief.

The dancers either lazily, or tilted their bodies, or squirmed, and returned to their seats.Suddenly, we hear an American accent. "My God!" A woman stood up from a table across the room.The man who was with her was going to stop her, but she pushed him aside and staggered over from the opposite side.She was very drunk, and she came to our table and stood in front of us, shaking a little, grinning silly.She seemed to find it funny how we looked.I look at my companion.Isabel stared at her blankly, Gray frowned sullenly, and Larry stared at her like he couldn't believe his eyes.

"Hello," she said. "Sophie," said Isabel. "Which the fuck do you think it was?" she giggled.She grabbed the waiter who was passing by, "Fenshan, bring me a chair." "You take it yourself," he said, breaking away from her hand. "Salaud, [Note]" she cursed, spitting at him. "Ten fais pas, Sophie," said a big fat fellow; he sat next to us in his shirt-sleeves, with greasy hair on his big head. "There are chairs here." "I didn't expect to meet you all like this," she said, still a little shaky. "Hello, Larry. Hello, Gray." She sat down on the chair the man had moved behind her. "Have a drink, Patron,"

she called. I had already noticed that the boss's eyes were staring at us, and then I came over. "Do you know any of these people, Sophie?" he asked, addressing her in the familiar second-person singular. "Ta gueule," she laughed drunkenly. "They were my childhood friends. I'm going to buy them a bottle of champagne. You don't give us urine de cheval. Get something you can swallow without throwing it up." "You're drunk, my poor Sophie," he said. "Go away." He's gone, happy to sell a bottle of champagne - we're just drinking brandy and soda to be on the safe side - while Sophie stares blankly at me for a moment. "What's your friend's name, Isabel?" Isabel told her my name. "Oh? I remember. You were in Chicago once. Very pompous, ain't you?" "Maybe," I laughed. I don't think of her at all; which is not surprising, since I haven't been to Chicago in over ten years, and I've seen quite a few people then and since. She was quite tall and looked taller when she stood up because she was so thin.She wore a bright green silk blouse, but creased and stained, under a black skirt.The reddish-brown hair was cut short, wavy and messy.The rouge on the cheeks was applied to the eyes, and the upper and lower eyelids were painted dark blue; the eyebrows and eyelashes were painted with thick black oil; the lips were dyed bright red with lipstick; the nails of both hands were also painted. Both are stained red, but the hands are dirty.She looked nastier than any other woman in the room.I suspect she was not only drunk but also drugged.There was, however, no denying that she possessed a sinister allure; her head was thrown back a little in a haughty gesture, and her face was made to accentuate the green of her eyes.In spite of her intoxication, she had an air of impudence which I could conceive of for all sleazy men.She smiled contemptuously at us. "I bet you're not very happy to see me," she said. "I heard you were in Paris," said Isabel lazily, with a dry smile on her face. "Why don't you call me. My name is in the phone book." "We've been here not long." Gray came to the rescue. "Are you having fun in Paris, Sophie?" "Happy. You've lost your business, Gray, haven't you?" Gray's face was already red, but this time it became even redder. "yes." "Too bad luck. I guess it's a tough time in Chicago right now. Luckily I left early. God, why didn't that son of a bitch bring us some wine?" "Here he comes," I said; and a waiter, with glasses and a bottle of wine on his tray, was coming across the middle of the table. My words made her notice me. "My lovely in-laws kicked me out of Chicago. Said I'd ruined their--reputation." She giggled grimly. "I now live on remittances from within the country." Champagne is here and poured.She lifted the glass to her lips with one trembling hand. "To hell with the pompous little people," she said.She finished her drink and looked at Larry. "You don't seem to have anything to say yourself, Larry." Larry looked at her with an expressionless face.He had not taken his eyes off her since she had come, and now smiled at her kindly. "I don't talk much," he said. The music played again.A man came up to us; he was rather tall and well built; with a large aquiline nose, brushed black hair, a large mouth and fleshy lips.That's like a Savonarola turned into a villain.Like most of the men here, he didn't wear a collar, and his jacket was buttoned tightly around his small waist, showing a little of his waist. "Come on, Sophie. Let's go dancing." "Go away. I'm not free. Don't you see I have friends?" "Jm en fous de tes amis[Note]. Fuck your mother's friend. Come dance." He grabbed her arm, but she broke free of him. "Fous mol la piax, espece con [note]," she exclaimed suddenly in a rage. "Merde [note]." "Mange [note]." Gray didn't understand what they were talking about, but I saw that Isabel understood perfectly, for she had that curious knowledge of obscenity that most decent women have, so she put on a straight face and frowned wickedly.The man raised his arm and opened his hand—a calloused workman's hand—and was about to slap her when Gray half-raised from his chair. "Allaiz vons ong," he called out in his own nasty voice. The man stopped and gave Gray a stern look. "Be careful, Coco," said Sophie, with a smirk. "He'll beat you to death." The man surveyed Gray's size, weight, and strength, shrugged resentfully, cursed at us, and slipped away.Sophie giggled drunkenly.The rest of the people in the room were silent.I refilled her glass. "Do you live in Paris, Larry?" Sophie asked him after she had finished her drink. "temporary." Talking to a drunk is always difficult, and needless to say, sober people are at a disadvantage. We continued talking for a few minutes, in a dull and awkward way.Then Sophie pushed back the chair. "If I don't go back to my boyfriend, he's going to be mad. He's a sulky bastard, but God, he's a good guy." She staggered to her feet. "Good-bye, friends. Come play. I'm here every night." She squeezed among the dancing people and disappeared in the crowd.I was on the verge of laughing at the cold contempt in Isabelle's noble features.Neither of us spoke. "It's a dirty place," said Isabel suddenly. "Let's go." I paid for our drinks and Sophie's champagne bill, and we all left.Most of the people were on the dance floor and we went out without looking.It was past two o'clock, and I thought it was time to go to bed, but Gray said he was hungry, so I suggested that we go to the Hotel Graff in Montmartre and have something to eat.None of us spoke as the car drove out.I sat next to Gray and directed him to the humble restaurant.There were some people sitting on the balcony. We went inside and ordered ham and eggs and beer.Isabelle regained her composure, at least on the surface; she complimented me on my acquaintance with these lower places in Paris, perhaps with a touch of irony. "You're going," I said. "I had a great time. Had a great night." "Damn it," Gray said. "It's nauseating. And Sophie." Isabel shrugged nonchalantly. "Do you remember her?" she asked me. "She sat next to you the first time you came to our house for dinner. Her hair wasn't as red as it was. It used to be dark brown." I recalled the past; I remembered a very young girl, with eyes so blue that they were almost green, and her head slightly tilted to one side, she was very cute; I find it very interesting. "Of course I do. I like her name. I had an aunt named Sophie." "She married a boy named Bob McDonald." "Nice guy," Gray said. "He's one of the prettiest boys I've ever met. I'll never know what he likes about Sophie. She married right after me.Her parents were divorced; her mother remarried to a Standard Oil man in China.She lived with her father in Mafen, and we saw her often at that time, but after she got married, she became a little alienated from our group.Bob McDonald was a lawyer, but he didn't make much money, and he lived in an apartment with no elevator in the north of town.However, this is not the reason.They don't want to see anyone.I have never seen two people love each other so passionately.Even after they had been married for two or three years and had a child, they went to the movies like lovers; he put his arm around her waist and her head rested on his shoulder.They were a joke in Chicago. " Larry listened to Isabel's talk, and he didn't appreciate it.There was an unfathomable expression on his face. "What happened next?" I asked. "They drove into Chicago one night in their little convertible, and they took the baby with them. They always took the baby because there was no help in the house, and Sophie did everything herself, and they were crazy about the baby. A gang of drunks drove a big wheeler into them head-on at eighty miles an hour. Bob and the boy were killed instantly, but Sophie suffered only a concussion and a broken rib or two. They Tried to keep it from her, to keep her from knowing that Bob and the boy were dead, but finally had to tell her. They said it was unbearable, and she was like crazy; screaming so that the house would fall down. They had to Watched her day and night, and once, she almost jumped out of the window. Of course we did everything we could, but she seemed to hate us. After she came out of the hospital, they sent her to a nursing home, where Lived here for several months." "Poor thing." "When they let her out, she started drinking. When she got drunk, she slept with whoever came to her. Her husband's family couldn't stand her. They were kind and quiet people, and they didn't care about this kind of scandal. Very resentful. At first we all tried to help her, but there was no way; if you asked her to dinner, she would come drunk, and probably passed out before the guests left. Then she Mixed with a group of bad guys, we had to ignore her. Once, she was arrested for drunk driving. She was with a Daguo [Note] she met in an underground hotel. After checking, it turned out to be an official arresting person." "But does she have money?" I asked. "Bob's life insurance; the owner of the car that knocked them over is insured, and she gets a little money from them. It doesn't last long, though. She spends it like a drunk." She was a sailor, and she was barefoot within two years. Her grandmother refused to let her go back to Mafen. Later, her husband’s family said that if she was willing to go abroad and lived in a foreign country and did not come back, she would be given living allowances. I think , she is living on this money now." "Things are back to normal," I said. "There was a time when the prodigals were sent from England to America; now the prodigals are evidently sent from America to Europe." "I'm so sorry for Sophie," said Gray. "Really?" Isabel said calmly. "I don't. Of course it was a shock, and I felt more for her than anyone else at the time. We've always known each other. But a normal person always recovers from things like this. She broke because She's inherently bad; a cripple by nature; even her love for Bob is too much. If she's strong, she ought to get by." "If the pots and pans are all... Aren't you too cruel, Isabel?" I grumbled. "I don't think so. It's common sense, and I don't think it's necessary to get sentimental about Sophie. God knows, nobody loves Gray and the boys more than I do; if they die in a car accident, I'll go crazy Derangement, however, is going to pick itself up sooner or later. Gray, do you approve of me doing this, or of getting drunk every night and sleeping with any hoodlum in Paris?" Gray's answer was brilliant, and arguably the funniest I've ever heard Gray speak. "Of course I'm in favor of you jumping into my funeral pyre in a new suit made by Culino's fashion house, but since burial is not possible at this time, I think the best alternative is to play bridge. And you must bear in mind that unless you As soon as you are sure to make a move, hold three and a half to four stacks of cards, and if you don't come up, call no trump card." I don't want to point out to Isabel that her love for her husband and children, though genuine, is anything but passionate; this is not the time.Maybe she had already seen what was going on in my mind, so she asked me with a challenge, "What do you say?" "Like Gray, I feel sorry for the girl." "She's not a girl, she's thirty years old." "I think the world was over for her when her husband and children were killed. Life was so cruel to her that she didn't care what she became, and plunged into the booze of alcoholism and fornication as a way of life. revenge. She used to live in heaven, but now heaven is lost. She is not used to living in the ordinary world of ordinary people, so, out of desperation, she plunged into hell.I can imagine that since she can no longer drink the nectar of the gods, it would be better to drink the piss. " "That's what you write in your novels. It's bullshit, and you know it's bullshit. Sophie rolled in the mire because she liked it. Other women have had husbands and children dead. That's not how she went bad." The reason. The bad does not come from the good. The bad is already there. When the car accident broke through her defenses, she showed her true colors. Don't waste your pity on her; she has become like this now, That's how she's always been." Larry never spoke.He seemed to be in deep thought. I'm afraid he didn't even hear what we said.After Isabel finished speaking, there was a moment of silence.Later he began to speak, but his voice was strange and monotonous, not as if he was talking to us, but as if he was talking to himself; his eyes seemed to be looking at the vague past years. "I remember when she was fourteen years old, she combed her long hair from the forehead to the back, tied a black bow at the back, and had a serious face with freckles. She was a modest, noble, and ideal child; met I read all kinds of books, and we often talk about books together." "When?" Isabel asked, frowning slightly. "Oh, when you and your mother were out and about. I used to go to her grandfather's, and we'd sit under their big elm tree and read to each other. She liked poetry, and wrote a lot of it herself." "A lot of girls write poetry at that age. Pretty crappy stuff." "Of course that was many years ago, and I daresay I don't know what's good or bad myself." "You yourself are no more than sixteen years old." "Imitation, of course. Robert Frost in a lot of places. But I have the feeling that it's remarkable that a girl can write like this at such a young age. She has a good ear, and Rhythmic; emotional to the sounds and smells of the countryside, the gentle smell of early spring in the air and the scent of rain on dry land." "I never knew she wrote poetry," Isabel said. "She keeps it a secret, lest you all laugh at her. She's very shy." "She's not ashamed now." "When I came back after the war, she was almost an adult: she had read a lot about working-class conditions, and had seen them herself in Chicago. She was obsessed with Carl Sandburg, writing about freedom Poems about the plight of the poor and the exploitation of the working class. I would say the poems were plain, but honest, and sympathetic and noble. At the time, she wanted to be a social worker. Her sacrifice It was very touching. She was very capable, I thought. She was not stupid or impulsive, but she gave off an impression of claustrophobic chastity and purity of soul. We saw each other often that summer." I could tell Isabel was getting more and more fidgety.Larry didn't feel like he was stabbing a dagger into her heart, and every word felt like a dagger in her heart.However, when Isabel spoke, there was a faint smile on her lips. "How did she choose you as her confidant?" Larry looked at her with honest eyes. "I don't know. You guys are rich, and she's a poor girl among you, and I'm not one of you. I came to Mafen only because Uncle Nelson practiced medicine in Mafen. Presumably she thought That puts me in common with her." Larry didn't have any relatives.Most of us have at least some cousins, cousins, or cousins, cousins; people we may barely know, but who at least make us feel part of the family.Larry's father was an only child, his mother an only daughter; his grandfather, a Quaker who had been wrecked at sea very young, had no brothers or sisters.There was no one in the world as lonely as Larry. "Did it ever occur to you that Sophie loved you?" asked Isabel. "Never," he laughed. "She loves you." Gray said boldly, "When Larry came back from the war a wounded soldier, half the girls in Chicago were chasing him." "It's not just chasing. She adores you, my poor Larry. Don't you mean you don't know?" "Of course I don't know, and I don't believe it." "I suppose you think her too noble." "To me she is still as she is now; a thin little girl with bow-knotted hair and a dignified face who reads a Keats ode with a trembling voice and tears in her eyes because it is so beautiful. I don't know where she is now." Isabel started slightly, and gave Larry a puzzled look. "It's too late, and I'm too tired to know what to do. Let's go." three The next evening I took the blue-steel coach to the Riviera, and two or three days later I went up to Antibes to see Eliot and tell him the news from Paris.He looked very ill.The convalescence at Montecadini had not yielded the expected results, and his subsequent travels had left him exhausted.He found a font in Venice, and went to Florence to buy the triptych he had bargained for.In his haste to get these things installed, he went up to Pontiny Moor himself, and stayed in a poor little hotel where the heat was unbearable.It took many days for the expensive works of art he bought to arrive, but he was determined not to leave until he achieved his goal, so he continued to live.He was very satisfied when everything was finally installed just as he wanted, and he showed me the pictures he had taken, triumphantly.Although the church is small, it is magnificent; the interior decoration is gorgeous but not tacky, which proves that Eliot really has vision. "I saw a sarcophagus from the early Christian era in Rome. I liked it very much. I thought about it for a long time and wanted to buy it, but I finally gave up." "How did you come up with the idea of ​​buying an early Christian sarcophagus, Eliot?" "Sleep for myself, man. It's very well made, and I think it's even with the holy fountain over the door, but I can't sleep in those early Christians because they were pudgy people. I can't just lie there and wait for the last trump card to come and put my knees on my chin like a fetus. It's uncomfortable." I laughed, but Elliott was serious. "I thought of a better way. I negotiated with the church—with some difficulty, but as was to be expected—that I should be buried in front of the altar, at the foot of the steps to the east of the altar; , when those poor peasants of the Pontiney Moors come to take communion, their heavy boots will tread on my bones. Quite handsome, don't you think? Just a bare slab of stone with my name and Two lines of birth rate year and month. Simonumentum quoeris, circumspiece[Note]. If you want to find his stele, you can find it by looking around." "I know enough Latin to not need to translate a cliché, Eliot," I said bitterly. "I'm sorry, man. I'm so used to the ignorance of polite people that I forgot for a moment that I was talking to a writer." He was still taken advantage of verbally. He continued, "However, what I want to tell you is this: I have written all the things that should be paid attention to in the funeral in my will, but I want you to be a watchman. I will never agree with Riviera's group." Retired military officers are buried with middle-class Frenchmen." "Of course I'd like to do it, Elliott, but I don't think it's necessary to think so carefully about things many years from now." "I'm old enough, you know, and to tell the truth, I'm not sad to be gone. What's that Randall line? I bake my hands..." Although my memory of poems is very poor, this poem is very short, so I can recite it. I never compete with anyone, no one is worth fighting with; I love nature, and secondly, art; I stretch out my hands to the fire of life for warmth; the fire is dying, and I am ready to go. "That's right," he said. I personally think that Eliot's insistence on using this poem to describe himself is very far-fetched. But, he said, "it expresses exactly how I feel. The only thing I want to add is that I've been hanging out with the best people in Europe." "I'm afraid it's not easy to add that to a quatrain." "Communications are over. There was a time when I hoped that America would replace Europe with an aristocracy respected by the 'popular'[note], but depression has completely destroyed the possibility. My poor country is getting It's getting hopelessly vulgar. You'll never believe it, my dear friend, when I was last in America a taxi driver called me 'dude'. " The Riviera hadn't recovered from the market crash of 1929; though it was far from what it had been, Elliott still gave parties and attended them.He never associated with the Jews, except for the Rothschilds, but now some of the greatest banquets are held by these chosen people of God[Note], and as long as it is a banquet, Eliot is reluctant to attend .He went from place to place at these gatherings, shaking hands with grace and kissing that, but with a kind of resigned detachment, like an exiled royal who sees himself with this group. People feel a little uncomfortable mixed together.However, the exiled royal family had a great time; to them, getting to know a movie star seemed to be the greatest wish of their lives.In the fashion of the day, people in the theatrical world were regarded as social objects, and Eliot did not look at them; but a retired actress built a luxurious house near him, and often entertained guests. . Ministers, dukes, ladies and gentlemen lived in her house for weeks at a time.Elliott also became a regular guest. "Of course, people are very inconsistent," he told me, "but you don't have to pay attention to people you don't like. She is an American, so I think we should support her.The guests she entertained found that there was someone who had a common language with them, which would definitely relieve a lot of doubts. " At times he was so obviously in poor health that I had to persuade him why he should be so active in society. "Dude, at my age, I can't afford to be left behind. I've been in high society for almost fifty years, don't I understand the truth here: as long as you don't show up frequently, you will be People forget about it." 我弄不懂他是否意识到自己当时作了一次多么可悲的自白。我不忍心再嘲笑艾略特了；他在我眼中成了一个极其可怜的人物。他活着就是为了社会交际；宴会和他是息息相关的；哪一家请客没有他，等于给他一次侮辱；一个人溜单是羞耻的；而现在人已经老了，他对受冷落尤其怕得要死。 夏天就这样过掉。艾略特从里维埃拉的这一头到里维埃拉的那一头忙得团团转，在戛纳吃午饭，在蒙特卡洛吃晚饭，拿出全副本领来适应这一家的茶会或者那一家的鸡尾酒会；而且不管自己多么疲劳，总竭力做得和蔼可亲，谈笑风生。他的内幕新闻来得个多，敢说最近的一些丑事秽闻的细节，除掉直接有关系的人外，谁也不比他知道得更早。假如你说他这种人生无益于时，他会瞠眼望着你毫不掩饰他的骇异。他会觉得你简直愚昧无知。