“Is it a gay world?”
She shrugged her bare shoulders.
“For the English it should be good. They won the war.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Bertram. “Berlin seems full of rich people, all drinking and dancing like this.”
The girl looked round on the company, and made a grimace of disgust.
“Foreigners mostly in these places. Jews. Profiteers,”—she said the word Schieber for the last class. “This isn’t Germany. It’s the same hell as in other great cities of the world, London, Paris, New York.”
“You know London?”
“Very well. I was there as a dancer before the war. At the Empire. How’s dear old Piccadilly?”
“Still there,” said Bertram.
He wished to God this girl would go away. The line of her neck as she turned her head reminded him of Joyce again.