Marie-Anne had just gotten the news. Dominique had been pictured in the morning newspaper leaving the President's private residence lat the evening before. The picture showed a woman whose clothes had been tussled.
I always knew she was a hussy, Marie-Anne dead-panned into the receiver. What she didn’t dare commit to the ear on the other end of the line was that Marie-Anne was secretly envious of Dominique. No one would say that Marie-Anne could launch a thousand ships, let alone the rubber duckie that was waiting for her in the bath she’d just drawn before the phone rang.
Even as the picture had to make the two matrons go green around the neck, it set their imaginations alight. Ou là là! purred the woman in the distance as they spoke about the man who surely would be at the center of a national fire-storm. Grrrr, growled Marie-Anne. The fine, thin body of the President coursed across the synapses of her brain like the current on the line.
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