Ihe Faust who summoned her from the abyss of which her eyes retain the devastating memory must have exged her presence for his soul; black Helens lips suck the marrow from the poets spirit, although she wishes to do no such thing. Apart from her meals and a few drinks, she is without many scious desires. If she were a Buddhist, she would be halfway on the road to sainthood because she wants so little, but, alas, she is still pricked by needs.
The cat yawned and stretched. Jeanne woke from her trance. Folding another spill out of a dismantled soo ignite a fresh cheroot, her bib of cut glass a-jingle and a-jangle, she turo the poet to ask, in her inimitable half-raucous, half-caressing voice, voice of a crow reared on honey, with its dawdling at of the Antilles, for a little money.
Nobody seems to know in what year Jeanne Duval was born, although the year in which she met Charles Baudelaire (1842) is precisely logged and biographies of his other mistresse……（内容加载失败！）
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