A
pleasant appetite to you."
Manka locked the door on a hook after her and sat down on the
German's knee, embracing him with her bare arm.
"Are you here long?" he asked, sipping his beer. He felt dimly
that that imitation of love which must immediately take place
demanded some sort of psychic propinquity, a more intimate
acquaintance, and on that account, despite his impatience, began
the usual conversation, which is carried on by almost all men--
when alone with prostitutes, and which compels the latter to lie
almost mechanically, to lie without mortification, enthusiasm or
malice, according to a single, very ancient stencil.
"Not long, only the third month."
"And how old are you?"
"Sixteen," fibbed Little Manka, taking five years off her age.
"O, such a young one!" the German wondered, and began, bending
down and grunting, to take off his boots. "Then how did you get
here?"
"Well, a certain officer deprived me of my innocence there...near
his birthplace. And it's terrible how strict my mamma is. If she
was to find out, she'd strangle me with her own hands.
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