Nor is Theresa, or even Thérèse. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. She asked no further questions for the moment. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. “It is true,” he said, “that I was dining last night at a restaurant in the Boulevard des Italiennes, and it is true that my companion was a young lady whose name is Pellissier. A spot of colour, brighter than any rouge, burned on her cheeks.
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