Госпожа Бовари

Chapter 7

           Hewassoonontheothersideoftheriver(thiswashiswaybacktoLaHuchette),andEmmasawhiminthemeadow,walkingunderthepoplars,slackeninghispacenowandthenasonewhoreflects.

           "Sheisverypretty,"hesaidtohimself;"sheisverypretty,thisdoctor’swife.Fineteeth,blackeyes,adaintyfoot,afigurelikeaParisienne’s.Wherethedevildoesshecomefrom?Whereverdidthatfatfellowpickherup?"

           MonsieurRodolpheBoulangerwasthirty-four;hewasofbrutaltemperamentandintelligentperspicacity,having,moreover,hadmuchtodowithwomen,andknowingthemwell.Thisonehadseemedprettytohim;sohewasthinkingaboutherandherhusband.

           "Ithinkheisverystupid.Sheistiredofhim,nodoubt.Hehasdirtynails,andhasn’tshavedforthreedays.Whileheistrottingafterhispatients,shesitstherebotchingsocks.Andshegetsbored!Shewouldliketoliveintownanddancepolkaseveryevening.Poorlittlewoman!Sheisgapingafterlovelikeacarpafterwateronakitchen-table.Withthreewordsofgallantryshe’dadoreone,I’msureofit.She’dbetender,charming.Yes;buthowtogetridofherafterwards?"

           Thenthedifficultiesoflove-makingseeninthedistancemadehimbycontrastthinkofhismistress.ShewasanactressatRouen,whomhekept;andwhenhehadponderedoverthisimage,withwhich,eveninremembrance,hewassatiated

           "Ah!MadameBovary,"hethought,"ismuchprettier,especiallyfresher.Virginieisdecidedlybeginningtogrowfat

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