He observed her bloodshot eyes, and remembering that he had been asleep, he put his hand on his billfold: it was there.
He appraised Suzanne's body as he gulped the tea, needing the warmth to warm him ...
Jeannette was on duty ... the Rondes were in Senlis ... Lena was buried ... he ate a little cheese and finished the cup and pushed the tray away and began yanking off his shirt and trousers, troubled by the buttons and zipper.
"Have more to eat," he said.
"A little cheese," she said, hoping tea and cheese would lessen her weariness.
Before Suzanne yanked out the lamp plug, she encouraged him to see her nakedness: she placed the food tray on the wash stand; she combed her hair before the bureau mirror: she shook her hair over her shoulders. Her breasts were plump and rosy. She had rose nipples. Her belly was a working woman's belly: she was strong. Standing with her legs tantalizingly apart, fluffing her hair, she dabbed cologne on her shoulders. Not a word.
Darkness, and then a small light, a lamppost outside the inn, revealed the wash stand and the brass bedposts--making them unreal.
The bed squeaked as Suzanne climbed in, hands and arms ready for him, mouth ready for him, her fatigue momentarily aside. She had difficulty arousing him; she wanted him right away; she was too tired for play; she scolded him and punched him with both knees; she muttered angrily.
"Come on, come on ... wake up ... I want that money ... you think I'm a slut ... I need money. You..."
She kicked him.