The twelve midnight blows sounded, but no one paid attention. In each of the rooms, the conversations were furious. We talk about new wave, abstract painting and new novel.
To the refinement of the ideas was added that of the decorations. In the ebony lounge, a jazz singer. The heat of his voice mixed with that of his perfume: vanilla, which he wore on his skin. Vanilla, tonka bean, white musks: a carnal and fascinating agreement.
