ever had in my whole life. I'm thirsty but I don't want to spoil the taste in my mouth."
"If you ate right at every meal you wouldn't be so skinny," lectured Mabel to conceal her pleasure, adding, since she had gone too far in showing herself pleased, "and now I suppose you are going gallivanting."
"No, I'm not. I'm just going to be still and read."
"Not before you do the dishes."
"No, Lucy, you go and do your homework. I'll wash and your Aunt Mabel can dry. I feel like standing after being bent over sewing all day," Mae said, eager to prolong the nostalgic reunion of their childhood with her sister. Congress at this moment was so nice and homey.
Lucy pulled down the shade as a signal to Vida not to call to her.
That's a funny ending. Maupassant doesn't say if Matilda's friend gave her back the real necklace. She should have. It's only fair. I hate unfinished stories. Maybe the next one has a better end.
The excursion of Madame Tellier and her girls from the house where they sold love for money was only partially satisfy ing.
Trouble with the writers of books Vida reads is you have to guess what they mean. It'd be better if Maupassant told more about Madame Tellier's house than all that stuff about visiting a relative. Imagine a house like a girls' school with no lessons but only parties. I mean, lessons you get in school. She giggled. Lessons are good because you learn things. I know what Mr. Bertrand wants. And dirty old Mr. Brady. And Harry. And slippery Semy. Why doesn't Maupassant say what those men wanted in Madame Tellier's house and the difference between the upstairs and downstairs? The funny thing is that Vida reads stories like this. Madame Tellier's girls and the horrid ones in the next room at the Crofter Hotel. Those disgusting sounds, and Mother shaking and vomiting. I was scared even though the door was locked. And then that voice of the woman—Horta—on the phone for those girls. I'll never forget that Halloween witch voice. But the French girls, and Madame Tellier, are so nice and gay. Not at all like the Crofter girls and their Madam, Horta.
For a succession of Sundays it poured spitefully, the weather conniving with Vida, Lucy decided, to keep her home. No sooner was it
