Free The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

“I’m damned fond of him.”

    â€œI’m going to marry him,” Brett said. “Funny. I haven’t thought about him for a week.”

    â€œDon’t you write him?”

    â€œNot I. Never write letters.”

    â€œI’ll bet he writes to you.”

    â€œRather. Damned good letters, too.”

    â€œWhen are you going to get married?”

    â€œHow do I know? As soon as we can get the divorce. Michael’s trying to get his mother to put up for it.”

    â€œCould I help you?”

    â€œDon’t be an ass. Michael’s people have loads of money.”

    The music stopped. We walked over to the table. The count stood up.

    â€œVery nice,” he said. “You looked very, very nice.”

    â€œDon’t you dance, count?” I asked.

    â€œNo. I’m too old.”

    â€œOh, come off it,” Brett said.

    â€œMy dear, I would do it if I would enjoy it. I enjoy to watch you dance.”

    â€œSplendid,” Brett said. “I’ll dance again for you some time. I say. What about your little friend, Zizi?”

    â€œLet me tell you. I support that boy, but I don’t want to have him around.”

    â€œHe is rather hard.”

    â€œYou know I think that boy’s got a future. But personally I don’t want him around.”

    â€œJake’s rather the same way.”

    â€œHe gives me the wilIys.”

    â€œWell,” the count shrugged his shoulders. “About his future you can’t ever tell. Anyhow, his father was a great friend of my father.”

    â€œCome on. Let’s dance.” Brett said.

    We danced. It was crowded and close.

    â€œOh, darling,” Brett said, “I’m so miserable.”

    I had that feeling of going through something that has all happened before. “You were happy a minute ago.”

    The drummer shouted: “You can’t two time—”

    â€œIt’s all gone.”

    â€œWhat’s the matter’?”

    â€œI don’t know. I just feel terribly.”

    â€œ. . . . . .” the drummer chanted. Then turned to his sticks.

    â€œWant to go?”

    I had the feeling as in a nightmare of it all being something repeated, something I had been through and that now I must go through again.

    â€œ. . . . . .” the drummer sang softly.

    â€œLet’s go,” said Brett. “You don’t mind.”

    â€œ. . . . . .” the drummer shouted and grinned at Brett.

    â€œAll right,” I said. We got out from the crowd. Brett went to the dressing room.

    â€œBrett wants to go,” I said to the count. He nodded. “Does she? That’s fine. You take the car. I’m going to stay here for a while, Mr. Barnes.”

    We shook hands.

    â€œIt was a wonderful time,” I said. “I wish you would let me get this.” I took a note out of my pocket.

    â€œMr. Barnes, don’t be ridiculous,” the count said.

    Brett came over with her wrap on. She kissed the count and put her hand on his shoulder to keep him from standing up. As we went out the door I looked back and there were three girls at his table. We got into the big car. Brett gave the chauffeur the address of her hotel.

    â€œNo, don’t come up,” she said at the hotel. She had rung and the door was unlatched.

    â€œReally?”

    â€œNo. Please.”

    â€œGood-night, Brett,” I said. ‘‘I’m sorry you feel rotten.”

    â€œGood-night, Jake. Good-night, darling. I won’t see you again.”

    We kissed standing at the door. She pushed me away. We kissed again. “Oh, don’t!” Brett said.

    She turned quickly and went into the hotel. The chauffeur drove me around to my flat. I gave him twenty francs and he touched his cap and said: “Good-night, sir,” and drove off. I rang the bell. The door opened and I went upstairs and went to bed.

BOOK II

Chapter VIII

    I did not see Brett