My wife, too, must love me in some way or other. An Extract from Louis Paul Boon's Minuet

A man talks about his wife: always rushing around, talking and organizing, but she didn't take her femininity too seriously. At the same time, there's a young girl there, cleaning the stairs: In those days, the girl did not yet have periods, she crouched on the stairs and let her hands run past the obstacle like water. She looked down at me as I stood at the bottom of the stairs, about to go up. Again, I saw between her legs those immaculate panties, like a snowy field, like a dear moonlit night.