‘I do. I go back to my hostel to sleep. Have to get up early,’ He lies, playing the game, ‘Have to go right to sleep when I get back. No more fu... tonight.’ ‘No more fun,’ She pouts and nods her head in the direction from which he had just come, back toward Clichy. ‘How is she?’ Camille knows what he’d been up to, knows all about the Dutch girl who had fled to Paris from Holland and had ended up, coincidentally, living in an apartment overlooking Rue Amsterdam. She knows about the girl’s. The voice of a girl calling his name excitedly. Suddenly there was no one around, he was alone in the middle of the ring, but still he heard her voice echoing around him. Where was the voice coming from? Who was it calling him? He turned around, looking for it, looking for her. And suddenly there she was, right next to him, standing so close that her breasts brushed his bare chest. He lifted his eyes to her face and became immediately hard as he looked into the eyes of the girl that lived. More

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