Brahma
04-03-2011, 06:49 PM
"Who is Julia?"
IN THE LATE AUTUMN of that year I met a girl, a gentle, feminine creature with almond eyes and luminous skin and the sweet, russet scent of apples in her breath; and on an evening in the second week of our acquaintance she took me to her bed, and we clung together and found passion and release in one another, and afterwards I held her tenderly and drifted into sleep. And dreamed of Julia.
“Who is Julia?” she asked at breakfast.
“Oh, someone I used to know,” I said. “Why?”
“A close friend?”
“Not really.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No,” I said, taken aback. “What made you ask that?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.”
“Did you love her?”
“Of course not. I hardly knew her.”
“And you didn’t sleep with her.”
“No,” I said. “She was just a friend. We never got around to that.”
“Liar,” she said.
IN THE LATE AUTUMN of that year I met a girl, a gentle, feminine creature with almond eyes and luminous skin and the sweet, russet scent of apples in her breath; and on an evening in the second week of our acquaintance she took me to her bed, and we clung together and found passion and release in one another, and afterwards I held her tenderly and drifted into sleep. And dreamed of Julia.
“Who is Julia?” she asked at breakfast.
“Oh, someone I used to know,” I said. “Why?”
“A close friend?”
“Not really.”
“Did you sleep with her?”
“No,” I said, taken aback. “What made you ask that?”
“Honestly?”
“Yes, honestly.”
“Did you love her?”
“Of course not. I hardly knew her.”
“And you didn’t sleep with her.”
“No,” I said. “She was just a friend. We never got around to that.”
“Liar,” she said.