Monsieur Monde Vanishes by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online Page B

everyday life and conventional behavior no longer existed.
    â€œI’ll explain.… I swear to you.…”
    â€œSlut!”
    â€œYes, I’m a slut.… You’re right.… But …”
    â€œD’you want to wake up the whole hotel?”
    â€œI don’t care.… If there were a hundred people here it wouldn’t stop me from going on my knees to you and begging you to forgive me, imploring you.…”
    â€œShut up.…”
    â€œJean!”
    â€œShut up, d’you hear?”
    â€œI didn’t do it on purpose, I promise you.…”
    â€œOh no! It was all my fault.…”
    â€œI needed a breath of air.…”
    â€œYou needed a man, that’s all.…”
    â€œIt’s not true, Jean.… For three days I hadn’t stirred from this room, I’d been looking after you like.…”
    â€œLike a mother, I suppose you’re going to say, you trollop.”
    â€œYou were asleep, and I went out for a moment.…”
    â€œTo hell with you!”
    â€œYou won’t go away, will you? … You’re not going to leave me alone? … I’d rather you killed me.…”
    â€œThat’s what I feel like doing.…”
    â€œWell then, kill me.…”
    â€œYou’re not worth it.… Let me go.… D’you hear?”
    He must have pushed her away once again, she must have fallen onto the floor, there was a silence, then the voice, whose pathetic tone had already become monotonous, the plea that was almost a parody:
    â€œJeaaan!”
    â€œStop bleating my name.…”
    â€œI can’t go on living without you.…”
    â€œGo to hell!”
    â€œHow can you talk like that! … How can you have forgotten already.…”
    â€œForgotten what? What you did for me or what I did for you? … Tell me that.… Or rather, hold your tongue.… Where are my shirts? Where the devil have you put my shirts?”
    And just as, between the acts of a tragedy, the players resume their normal voices, she simply muttered: “I sent three to the laundry. The others are on the top shelf in the bathroom cupboard.…”Then, reverting to her former tone: “Jean …”
    He did not try to vary his response: “To hell with you!”
    â€œWhat are you going to do?”
    â€œThat’s my own business.”
    â€œI swear, since I’ve known you I haven’t let a man touch me.…”
    â€œExcept the one you were coming out of the dance hall with when I turned up …”
    â€œI’d asked him to take me back here.… I was frightened.…”
    He burst out laughing. “That’s the best yet!”
    â€œDon’t laugh, Jean.… If you go away, you’ll be sorry for it tomorrow.…”
    â€œIs that a threat?”
    He sounded threatening himself. More than threatening, for there was a loud thud—perhaps he had struck her—then another silence, and a moan:
    â€œYou haven’t understood.… I’m the one who … Oh no, after all … I’d rather make an end to it right now.…”
    â€œPlease yourself.”
    Footsteps; a door closing. It was not the door into the hallway but probably the bathroom door. The sound of water pouring into a glass.
    â€œWhat’re you doing?”
    She did not answer. He was panting, presumably as he tried to shut a suitcase that was too full. Then he walked around the room to make sure he had forgotten nothing.
    â€œGood-by!” he shouted at last.
    Immediately the door opened again and a terrified voice exclaimed:
    â€œJean … Jean … !”
    â€œTo hell with you!”
    â€œOne second, Jean … You can’t refuse me that now.… Listen.…”
    He was walking toward the door.
    â€œListen.… I’m going to die.…”
    He went on walking. She was crawling on the floor. One could guess