_Warmth._ Another occasionally marked domestic deficit. _Mirth._ See above. _Femininity._ Look over the wives and look over the trollops. _Youth._ Who does not age? _Favor._ Some say all women are masochistic and many wives surely are; for these, a slight indiscretion may be a pleasanter thing to suffer than the painless boredom of impeccable fidelity. Whoring as a favor to the frau may be a rare form--but it must not be overlooked. _Information._ Whole books could be written on this topic alone. _Practice._ Here, again. _Courtesy._ Helping worthy girls through college, and the like. _Testing._ The litmus of another woman. _Tradition._ No comment. _Courage._ In these days, it takes a lot. _Conversation._ A degree of candor is found among filles de joie that is elsewhere rare. And so the list goes--to the alleged length of fifteen hundred and six excellent reasons for associating with hired damsels. They hardly furnish a good brief for the sexual slum and erotic underground of harlotry today; but they surely show the sores and shortcomings of the pure, the purulent, in heart. Hence, when, at the beginning of this dissertation, I asked myself "Why?" I was speculating upon which of the multitude of possible motives governed my assent to Gwen's proposition. Beauty, to be sure; she was a handsome wench; Loneliness and Fun; Relaxation; Information and Conversation, perhaps; and perhaps, also (a reason Forbisher-Laroche himself had never thought of) the Imminence of Death. It is said that the imminence of death on any large scale historically produced mass orgy--that, for instance, the Roman streets were littered with connected couples whenever the plague closed in upon the city during medieval times. This urge--sired doubtless by Nature's command to beget in every eleventh hour--may have had its dark and archetypal image within me somewhere. 11 These ratiocinations occupied me while I dressed, picked up the premises, and ordered from the Knight's Bar a supply of ice in a thermos jug, some whisky, Coca-Cola, glasses, and carbonated water. The waiter had brought them--a waiter wet and odoriferous from a day's running through the high temperatures, but cheerful withal--and held the card for my signature, and departed, before she called from the lobby. I gave her the number and went out to the elevator. She had piled up the sleek filaments of her red-brown hair to keep cool a graceful neck. She wore a suit of thin cotton--green--and interesting shoes of a darker green. She came to my quarters laughing amiably. "I'm very pleased with myself!" "You should be." She undid the catch of her jacket and took it off. The green blouse beneath was little more than a broad brassière--a sensible and summery thing that left bare a midsection of smooth, sunburned abdomen and rib. "It was my idea to call you up," she said. "Which pleases me with you."