“I sweat on purpose,” said the boy. “It is my way of showing people I am a man.” He laughed and ran down the path toward some other boys who had seen him and were chasing him. They caught up with him and began to beat him, knocking off his hat and tearing at his clothes until he was left naked in front of them while they howled for more victims.
The next morning I went to see Marcelle again but she would not look me in the face so I did not know what she thought about our conversation of the day before or whether it had changed anything between us since then. It seemed likely that if we did get together again there would be no great change in her behavior; I knew her well enough now to realize that when she wanted something from someone nothing could stop her doing whatever it was that took precedence over all others: Marcelle always got what she wanted, despite any obstacles placed in her way by anyone else—though if these were capable of stopping her they usually proved less than formidable just as though they were mere children playing games which everyone knows are only meant to be played by adults—and this applied even if those obstacles turned out to have been deliberately created through trickery or deceit rather than being totally unexpected because their origin lay outside themselves as part of an intricate plan concocted behind one person’s back whose intention it was never to let things come about without first managing