Yet,
there was also something gross about her, too.
Accompanying her was a nervous-looking fellow whose washed-out
face was particularly unattractive. It seemed as if the bone in
his nose was going, due to the shrinkage of the blood-vessels.
Once, just before the dance began, I saw him rub something on the
back of his hand, raise it to his nose, and sniff. Then he took a
sip of a liqueur.
The dance began, wild from the first step, and as it developed,
Kennedy leaned over and whispered, "The danse des Apaches."
It was acrobatic. The man expressed brutish passion and jealousy;
the woman, affection and fear. It seemed to tell a story--the
struggle of love, the love of the woman against the brutal
instincts of the thug, her lover. She was terrified as well as
fascinated by him in his mad temper and tremendous superhuman
strength. I wondered if the dance portrayed the fact.
The music was a popular air with many rapid changes, but through
all there was a constant rhythm which accorded well with the
abandon of the swaying dance.
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