“I only hope you can drink the stuff,” remarked Corinna. “We call it tord-boyau.”
“It’s a rare treat,” said Martin. “I can’t afford wine in England, and the soup is delicious. Somehow no English landlady ever thinks of making it.”
“England is a beast of a place,” said Corinna.
“Yet in your letter you called Paris a God-forsaken city.”
“So it is in August. The schools are closed. Not a studio is open. Every single student has cleared out and there’s nothing in the world to do.”
“I’ve found heaps to do,” said Martin.
“The Pantheon and Notre Dame and the Folies Bergère,” said Corinna. “There’s also the Eiffel Tower. Imagine a three years’ art-student finding fun on the Eiffel Tower!”
“Then why haven’t you gone home this August as usual?” asked Martin.
Corinna knitted her brows. “That’s another story,” she replied shortly.
“I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to be impertinent,” said Martin.