a bad, soft road, tossing from one side to another, pulling up and then noisily accelerating again. Prokop was angry and moved away whenever the motion of the vehicle threw him against the girl. But she nestled against him. “You’re cold, aren’t you?” she whispered, opened the rug and wrapped him in it, pressing herself against him. “Get warm,” she breathed with a lewd smile and pressed herself against him with her whole body. She was hot and yielding, as if she were naked. Her loose hair exuded a wild and bitter scent, tickled his face and fell across his eyes. She spoke to him in some foreign language, repeating something again and again more and more softly. Then she took the lobe of his ear between her delicately chattering teeth, and suddenly she was lying on his chest and placing her lips on his in a moist, unclean, sophisticated kiss. He pushed her away roughly. She drew back deeply offended, sat farther away from him, and with a movement of her shoulder jerked off the fur rug. There was an icy wind blowing; he took up the rug and again passed it round her. She threw herself about wildly, tore off the rug and let it fall on the floor of the car. “As you like,” growled Prokop, and turned away.
The car turned into a firm stretch of road and immediately accelerated. Of Daimon nothing was to be seen but the back of his shaggy coat. Prokop sobbed with the coldness of the wind and looked round at the girl. She had twined her hair round her neck and was shivering with cold in her thin clothes. He was sorry for her, and again took the
