Госпожа Бовари

Chapter 1

           Emma,inadimitydressing-gown,leantherheadagainstthebackoftheoldarm-chair;theyellowwall-paperformed,asitwere,agoldenbackgroundbehindher,andherbareheadwasmirroredintheglasswiththewhitepartinginthemiddle,andthetipofherearspeepingoutfromthefoldsofherhair.

           "Butpardonme!"shesaid."Itiswrongofme.Iwearyyouwithmyeternalcomplaints."

           "No,never,never!"

           "Ifyouknew,"shewenton,raisingtotheceilingherbeautifuleyes,inwhichatearwastrembling,"allthatIhaddreamed!"

           "AndI!Oh,Itoohavesuffered!OftenIwentout;Iwentaway.Idraggedmyselfalongthequays,seekingdistractionamidthedinofthecrowdwithoutbeingabletobanishtheheavinessthatweigheduponme.Inanengraver’sshopontheboulevardthereisanItalianprintofoneoftheMuses.Sheisdrapedinatunic,andsheislookingatthemoon,withforget-me-notsinherflowinghair.Somethingdrovemetherecontinually;Istayedtherehourstogether."Theninatremblingvoice,"Sheresembledyoualittle."

           MadameBovaryturnedawayherheadthathemightnotseetheirrepressiblesmileshefeltrisingtoherlips.

           "Often,"hewenton,"IwroteyoulettersthatItoreup."

           Shedidnotanswer.Hecontinued

           "Isometimesfanciedthatsomechancewouldbringyou.IthoughtIrecognisedyouatstreet-corners,andIranafterallthecarriagesthroughwhosewindowsIsawashawlfluttering,aveillikeyours."

           Sheseemedresolvedtolethimgoonspeakingwithoutinterruption.

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