Mangin didn’t answer. Of course this was not a can-can – no watered-down version of an Algerian peasant’s dance, full of drunk sensuality. This was a power game between male and female forces, symbolic of contradictions beneath the human veneer.
And in this peculiar case, male and female were brother and sister. Mangin’s eyes could deceive him but not his heart. He averted his eyes. He had to restrain himself or he would jump upon the stage, shoot the goujat14 and take his place. He glanced around the saloon to regain his reason. He saw that the man they had to mind had turned away from his companion and was staring at the stage.
The dancer stuck his hand under her skirt. She pushed her left underarm against his throat and resisted with all her might. Cooing like a dove, he was winning t
