Page 128 - tender-is-the-night

Rosemary, who was accustomed to having shell fragments
of such events shriek past her head. But a totality of shock
had piled up in her too. For the moment, Dick was too
shaken by the impetus of his newly recognized emotion to
resolve things into the pattern of the holiday, so the women,
missing something, lapsed into a vague unhappiness.
Then, as if nothing had happened, the lives of the Divers
and their friends flowed out into the street.
However, everything had happened—Abe’s departure
and Mary’s impending departure for Salzburg this after-
noon had ended the time in Paris. Or perhaps the shots, the
concussions that had finished God knew what dark mat-
ter, had terminated it. The shots had entered into all their
lives: echoes of violence followed them out onto the pave-
ment where two porters held a post-mortem beside them as
they waited for a taxi.
‘Tu as vu le revolver? Il était très petit, vraie perle—un
jouet.’
‘Mais, assez puissant!’ said the other porter sagely. ‘Tu as
vu sa chemise? Assez de sang pour se croire à la guerre.’

128 Tender is the Night