adjust the lamp's wick, which was smoking. I just listened. I'd drunk close to a

liter of wine and my temples were burning. I was smoking Raymond's cigarettes

because I'd run out. The last streetcars were going by, taking the now distant

sounds of the neighborhood with them. Raymond went on. What bothered him was

that he "still had sexual feelings for her." But he wanted to punish her. First

he'd thought of taking her to a hotel and calling the vice squad to cause a

scandal and have her listed as a common prostitute. After that he'd looked up

some of his underworld friends. But they didn't come up with any­ thing. As

Raymond pointed out to me, a lot of good it does being in the underworld. He'd

said the same thing to them, and then they'd suggested "marking" her. But that

wasn't what he wanted. He was going to think about it. But first he wanted to

ask me something. Be-fore he did, though, he wanted to know what I thought of

the whole thing. I said I didn't think anything but that it was interesting. He

asked if I thought she was cheating on him, and it seemed to me she was; if I

thought she should be punished and what I would do in his place, and I said you

can't ever be sure, but I understood his wanting to punish her. I drank a little

more wine. He lit a cigarette and let me in on what he was thinking about doing.

He wanted to write her a letter, "one with a punch and also some things in it to

make her sorry for what she's done." Then, when she carne running back, he'd go

to bed with her and "right at the last minute" he'd spit in her face and throw

her out. Yes, that would punish her, I thought. But Ray­ mond told me he didn't

think he could write the kind of letter it would take and that he'd thought of

asking me to write it for him. Since I didn't say anything, he asked if I'd mind

doing it right then and I said no. He downed a glass of wine and then stood up.

He pushed aside the plates and the little bit of cold sausage we'd left. He