The Daughter of Madam Ango

Ah, that daughter of that Madam. The Madam, judging from the name, was a woman of very easy virtue, and so the daughter, obviously, is also quite dubious, because, as they say, like mother like daughter. Her whole personality is contained by her name. Just imagine for a moment if you will: since Madam Ango has breached all the norms of decency and even her name sounds dubious, then what sort of a little thing would the daughter of Madam Ango be? It's just pure debauchery. She wears her fur coat – all naked underneath – and then she's off to a restaurant, a rose or some other flower in her hair; and at the restaurant she causes a brawl, and the men fight for the she-devil. The blood is spilled, the mirrors are crushed, the tuxedoes and tails are torn. And she just exudes the scent of her cool skin from under her fur coat; she bares a breast with her nipple indecently cracked – she's happy.

She's lives alone. Rents an apartment. Now a man moves in with her, now a whole dozen keep visiting her. There's no system to it. She dresses so that everything is obvious to all: her hat, to one side, so you can't see half of her face. She'll wear any kind of white pants, or a dress that's like a flag trailing behind her for half a block. She's long past sixteen, yet there is no sign of maturity. She smokes, drinks, and sniffs like a horse. Secretly from all, she suffers from poor health. Loves to fuck, even puffs and pants. She'll come to a bad end.

She twiddles a long cigarette holder with her fingers. She'll come to a bad end. Will die in the gutter. Still, she's fun.

Her value system is founded on champagne and caviar. In the novels, the daughter of Madam Ango marries a general or a senator or dies from some fateful, vicious disease (tuberculosis, cancer) – not so in real life, not always.

Loves her c. Affectionately refers to it by diminutive names using various suffixes and endings.