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Venus In Furs

* * * * *

Whenever the train stops, I jump off, run to her carriage, and with
drawn cap await her orders. She wants coffee and then a glass of
water, at another time a bowl of warm water to wash her hands, and
thus it goes on. She lets several men who have entered her
compartment pay court to her. I am dying of jealousy and have to leap
about like an antelope so as to secure what she wants quickly and
not miss the train.

In this way the night passes. I haven’t had time to eat a mouthful
and I can’t sleep, I have to breathe the same oniony air with Polish
peasants, Jewish peddlers, and common soldiers.

When I mount the steps of her coupe, she is lying stretched out
on cushions in her comfortable furs, covered up with the skins of
animals. She is like an oriental despot, and the men sit like Indian
deities, straight upright against the walls and scarcely dare to
breathe.

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Filed Under: story classics

number 48
number 48

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