“The mythology of the superstud... ′ my friend, the poet Henti Drouille, had written on a slip of paper before putting a bullet in his head. His mistress cried out to me: ‘I don’t understand – I don’t understand! He was such a marvelous lover!’ True enough, so marvelous that she had noticed nothing. I saw in my mind the virile mask of Jim Daley and seemed to hear his voice saying: ‘She was probably the clitoral type. Sometimes, a man gets a break this way.’ No, one has to know when to stop.”
