![]() All the chorus called him Lucien le Bel, with a face to make a girl's heart hammer like a tambour. ![]() And handsome they were too, those clean, sweet-smelling hard young bodies that could give and take so much pleasure.Īnd the most beautiful was Lucien. So they told me, the young men who came to the stage door. Forty years ago I was a ballerina, so slim and young and beautiful then. There is a little bag under my pillow which no one knows about. I am here, I suppose, because I simply ran out of money. For I shall be gone before the night sky fills that small high window over there at the edge of my vision. How did it come to this? That I, Antoinette Giry, at the age of fifty-eight, am lying on my back in a hospice for the people of Paris, run by the good sisters, waiting to meet myMaker? I do not think I have been a very good person, not good like these sisters who clean up the endless mess, bound by their oath of poverty, chastity, humility and obedience. Good luck, little spider, making a web to catch a fly to feed your babies. Strange to think this spider will outlive me, be here when I am gone, a few hours from now. There is a crack in the plaster of the ceiling far above my head and close to it a spider is creating a web. HOSPICE OF THE SISTERS OF CHARITY OF THE ORDER OF ST.-VINCENT-DE-PAUL, PARIS, SEPTEMBER 1906
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