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NOT EASY TO forget, how rude Dr. Voisin had been with<br />
her, when she had told him that she wanted to write her<br />
Honours thesis on his poetry. He had said : “My poetry?<br />
What do you mean by that? There is nothing of the kind, I cannot help<br />
you, I do not specialize in myself, <strong>le</strong>ast of all in poetry supposedly written<br />
by me. Better talk to another teacher.” Neverthe<strong>le</strong>ss, he had asked her<br />
her phone number, “just in case”. Was he going to change his mind about<br />
it? Then, why treat her like that? As far as she was concerned, it was a<br />
serious blow to her enthusiasm. “He’s just trying to get it off with you,<br />
you’ll see”, said Susan, “he’s re<strong>le</strong>nt<strong>le</strong>ss, he can’t <strong>le</strong>ave a lass alone, did<br />
you imagine that he had a real intel<strong>le</strong>ctual interest in you? —You seem<br />
to hate him? What have you got against him? —Me, nothing. I’m not<br />
the one he’s been rude to. But I’m no friend of these old <strong>le</strong>chers who are<br />
after all the girls in their class. He could be your father. —He could be<br />
my father and yours, but he is not! His age has nothing to do with the<br />
way I relate to him, he’s a great teacher..., on his good days, and I like<br />
his stuff. —His age, and yours, has certainly a lot to do with the way<br />
he relates to you! Why do you defend him, now? You were whining five<br />
minutes ago: ‘He made me cry... Sniff, sniff ’, but now he’s God again. Do<br />
you fancy him, or what?” Kathy snar<strong>le</strong>d : “Do you?... No, I don’t think I<br />
do, or I’m not aware of it. If what you say is true, he would be delighted<br />
that we spend so much time discussing him... By the way, did you know<br />
Strangers than Paradise is on at the Union Theatre tonight? Want to see<br />
it? —I’ve seen it once already, but Alastair and Gilda want to go too. We<br />
could pick them up at six and go out together for dinner after the film,<br />
at that new vegetarian place in G<strong>le</strong>be which has just opened”.<br />
They had paid their milkshakes. Susan bought a pack of Winfield<br />
extralight and a bar of white chocolate. Her car, an old purp<strong>le</strong> Beet<strong>le</strong>,<br />
more or <strong>le</strong>ss restored and painted by her younger brother, was parked in<br />
front of the beach where they had spent the best part of the afternoon.<br />
The end of the semester was not far away; Susan, who had studied hard<br />
to catch up with the literature and civilization courses, because she had<br />
been sick several weeks in August, had not had time to get a tan before<br />
the advent of summer; she had got sunburnt. Kathy had a fairer comp<strong>le</strong>xion,<br />
but Susan, with her auburn hair, had the skin of a redhead.<br />
Her cheeks, her shoulders and her breasts were aching. The car, parked<br />
in the sun for hours, was steaming hot. The sheepskin seat covers did<br />
not help much, they just prevented you from having your bum fried on<br />
the spot. Susan put a cassette of the Dutiful Dead in the player. She<br />
liked to provocatively align her taste with majority ru<strong>le</strong>. In other times<br />
she would have been a fan of Johnny Farnham. Kathy said : “Come on,<br />
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