TO THE LIGHTHOUSEworld and his fame or his failure, but again as shehad first known him, gaunt but gallant; helpingher out of a boat, she remembered; with delightfulways, like that (she looked at him, and he lookedastonishingly young, teasing Minta). For herself—"Put it down there," she said, helping the Swiss girlto place gently before her the huge brown pot inwhich was the Bœuf en Daube—for her own partshe liked her boobies. Paul must sit by her. She hadkept a place for him. Really, she sometimes thoughtshe liked the boobies best. They did not bother onewith their dissertations. How much they missed,after all, these very clever men! How dried up theydid become, to be sure. There was something, shethought as he sat down, very charming about Paul.His manners were delightful to her, and his sharp-cut nose and his bright blue eyes. He was so con-siderate. Would he tell her—now that they wereall talking again—what had happened?

"We went back to look for Minta's brooch," hesaid, sitting down by her. "We"—that was enough.She knew from the effort, the rise in his voice tosurmount a difficult word that it was the first timehe had said "we." "We did this, we did that."They'll say that all their lives, she thought, and anexquisite scent of olives and oil and juice rose fromthe great brown dish as Marthe, with a little150
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