“Oh Adèle,” he turned to face her, “you know that I would dearly love to kill you.” She smiled at this and took off her shawl, throwing it on the bed.
She trailed her hands down her body and rose to walk toward him. When she was only a foot away, the girl tripped, and only Mathieu’s timely intervention prevented her from falling. He caught and righted her before standing up himself.
“You’re drunk!” Mathieu was surprised. He has never seen her not completely in control of herself, and he wouldn’t have thought it possible. The complexity of the girl was beginning to take its toll on him.
“Not so very drunk,” she smiled.
“What is wrong with you?” he questioned, exasperated
