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Page 49.
 “I don’t know what it’s about, but I understand. The ibis keeps flying and the grass never stops rustling, no matter what we think we’re praying about.”
In another part of the Louvre, they looked at a sensuous painting of a smiling nymph imagined by some 18th Century Classicist painter, before the Revolution of 1789.
“That’s funny,” Marc said as they stood close together, each with an arm around the other’s back. “I once had a picture on my wall from a girlie magazine. She was so young and delicate, no matter the porn, that her beauty shone through. I loved her smile, which was true and dazzling.”
Emma said: “I didn’t know men worship nudes.”
“We worship the sun at the Nile, and a girl’s pretty mooning in a magazine. It’s all the same overwhelming beauty like I have with you. I am the world’s happiest, richest man.”
She pressed close. “I am a very happy woman.”
“Girl.”
“Your girl. Your moon, your buttocks, your breasts… you did say they remind you of pears, didn’t you? You use that comparison with everyone?”
“Be calm. Very few women have perfect knobs like you.”
“You get ten free squeezes later.” She squealed as he raised a mockingly threatening hand. “Not here!”
“What do you take me for, madam?”
“A very horny boy.”
“And you love it.”
She shuddered. “You make me so wet just looking at you. We cannot just make love morning noon and night. We have to see the Louvre and the Arc de Triomphe and the Eiffel Tower and a hundred other great things.”
“And we shall,” he promised.
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