Read it through once

Paris rawly waking, crude sunlight on her lemon streets. Moist pith of farls of bread, the froggreen wormwood, her matin incense, court the air. Belluomo rises from the bed of his wife’s lover’s wife, the kerchiefed housewife is astir, a saucer of acetic acid in her hand. In Rodot’s Yvonne and Madeleine newmake their tumbled beauties, shattering with gold teeth _chaussons_ of pastry, their mouths yellowed with the _pus_ of _flan bréton_. Faces of Paris men go by, their wellpleased pleasers, curled conquistadores.