But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. “I have never seen him in my life,” she said to the official. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. The room was dark and dusty. She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. “Where should we go?” Knowing that they would be dogged wherever they went, she volunteered, “Let’s go to the Big Apple. It’s not a bit of good pretending there’s any Higher Truth or wonderful principle in this business. “Dear me!” he said. She felt as if she had struck them unawares. I get my driver's license tomorrow.
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