And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. Now go. Little by little, she stopped hating him. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards.
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