He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. 13 with a latchkey went humming lightly up to her room. "What shall I say? Shall I tell you, or shall I leave you in the dark—as I must always leave her? What shall I say except that I am accursed of men? Yes; I have loved something—her mother. But, alas! she was beautiful—and beauty is a crime not to be forgiven by a jealous woman. The rumor mills churned with the news that he harbored for her no ill will, but was simply too busy in his life to have a girlfriend that wasn’t “serious”. “I think,” he said, “I was a little too mystical about beauty the other day. She said there was no other way to get them to stop their constant screaming. We were only—les autres.
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