Orville disliked the room, hated himself.
"Fix it," he ordered.
Perched on a chair, he watched her remove the luggage and change the sheets. She was silent, quick motioned, angry at this late hour job; she was scheming how she could latch onto some of his money by sleeping with him.
She spread fresh sheets ...
"I washed them yesterday ... they're dry," she said.
He said nothing, admiring her as he would admire an animal: bitch spreading sheets and cover.
"There," she sighed, settling the pillow.
As she straightened up, her arm bumped the crucifix on the wall by the bed; it rocked back and forth with a dry sound; with a frown she steadied it, but, as she steadied it, he felt she was waiting for a proposition.
"I'm with the Maquis," he lied. "I go into Germany tomorrow ... parachute drop ... How about sleeping with me tonight? I'll pay you two hundred francs."
"I'll come," she said. "I'll come later on ... I'll sneak you whiskey..." She had a huge smile: two hundred francs, Jesus, the man was crazy!