“No, I'm your sort, Chris,” he said over his shoulder, “only they've tamed me. O God, how tame I am.”
Chrisfield did not listen to what he was saying. He stood in front of the woman, staring in her face. She looked at him in a stupid frightened way. He felt in his pockets for some money. As he had just been paid he had a fifty-franc note. He spread it out carefully before her. Her eyes glistened. The pupils seemed to grow smaller as they fastened on the bit of daintily colored paper. He crumpled it up suddenly in his fist and shoved it down between her breasts.
Some time later Chrisfield sat down in front of Andrews. He still had his wet slicker on.
“Ah guess you think Ah'm a swine,” he said in his normal voice. “Ah guess you're about right.”
“No, I don't,” said Andrews. Something made him put his hand on Chrisfield's hand that lay on the table. It had a feeling of cool health.
“Say, why were you trembling so when you came in here? You seem all right now.”
“Oh, Ah dunno,'” said Chrisfield in a soft resonant voice.
They were silent for a long while. They could hear the woman's footsteps going and coming behind them.
“Let's go home,” said Chrisfield.
“All right.... Bonsoir, Crimpette.”