Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - IX. Back to Paris
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me. I do not want to hear anything more about
women. You have had more wine than is good
for you, you have been talking a lot of nonsense,
let us go home!”
Half-way down the Boulevard my friend wanted
a bock, so we sat down at a table outside a café.
“Bonsoir, chéri,” said the lady at the next
table to my friend. “Won’t you stand me a
bock, I have had no supper.” Norstrom told
her in an angry voice to leave him alone.
“Bonsoir, Chloe,” said I. “How is
Flopette?”
“She is doing the back streets, she is no good
on the Boulevard till after midnight.”
As she spoke Flopette appeared and sat down
by the side of her comrade-in-arms.
“You have been drinking again, Flopette,” said
I, “do you want to go to the devil altogether?”
“Yes,” she answered in a hoarse voice, “it
cannot be worse than here.”
“You are not very particular about your
acquaintances,” growled Norstrom, looking
horrified at the two prostitutes.
“I have had worse acquaintances than these
two,” said I. “I am besides their medical
adviser. They both have syphilis, absinthe will
do the rest, they will end in St. Lazare or in the
gutter ere long. At least they do not pretend
to be anything but what they are. Do not forget
that what they are, they have to thank a man
for, and that another man is standing in the
street corner opposite to take from them the
money we give them. They are not so bad as
you think, these prostitutes, they remain women
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