‘But what way, Emile?’ ‘Your family, mademoiselle, the family of your father. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. You should have confided in me, and fallen in with my plan at the beginning. As long as I live here, you stop fucking the children and you stop trying to fuck me. You will be wearing your travelling dress, and no doubt you would prefer it. Don’t imagine that. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations.
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