Page 279 - tender-is-the-night

a predilection of Nicole’s he snatched up an edge of a fortu-
neteller’s tent and peered within. A droning voice greeted
him: ‘La septième fille d’une septième fille née sur les rives
du Nil—entrez, Monsieur—‘
Dropping the flap he ran along toward where the plai-
sance terminated at the lake and a small ferris wheel
revolved slowly against the sky. There he found her.
She was alone in what was momentarily the top boat of
the wheel, and as it descended he saw that she was laughing
hilariously; he slunk back in the crowd, a crowd which, at
the wheel’s next revolution, spotted the intensity of Nicole’s
hysteria.
‘Regardez-moi ça!’
‘Regarde donc cette Anglaise!’
Down she dropped again—this time the wheel and its
music were slowing and a dozen people were around her
car, all of them impelled by the quality of her laughter to
smile in sympathetic idiocy. But when Nicole saw Dick her
laughter died—she made a gesture of slipping by and away
from him but he caught her arm and held it as they walked
away.
‘Why did you lose control of yourself like that?’
‘You know very well why.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘That’s just preposterous—let me loose—that’s an insult
to my intelligence. Don’t you think I saw that girl look at
you—that little dark girl. Oh, this is farcical—a child, not
more than fifteen. Don’t you think I saw?’
‘Stop here a minute and quiet down.’

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