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Chapter 8

           Thentheywarmedthemselvesinthekitchenwhiletheirroomwasbeingmadeready.Charlesbegantosmoke.Hesmokedwithlipsprotruding,spittingeverymoment,recoilingateverypuff.

           "You’llmakeyourselfill,"shesaidscornfully.

           Heputdownhiscigarandrantoswallowaglassofcoldwateratthepump.Emmaseizingholdofthecigarcasethrewitquicklytothebackofthecupboard.

           Thenextdaywasalongone.Shewalkedaboutherlittlegarden,upanddownthesamewalks,stoppingbeforethebeds,beforetheespalier,beforetheplastercurate,lookingwithamazementatallthesethingsofonce-on-a-timethatsheknewsowell.Howfarofftheballseemedalready!Whatwasitthatthussetsofarasunderthemorningofthedaybeforeyesterdayandtheeveningofto-day?HerjourneytoVaubyessardhadmadeaholeinherlife,likeoneofthosegreatcrevicesthatastormwillsometimesmakeinonenightinmountains.Stillshewasresigned.Shedevoutlyputawayinherdrawersherbeautifuldress,downtothesatinshoeswhosesoleswereyellowedwiththeslipperywaxofthedancingfloor.Herheartwaslikethese.Initsfrictionagainstwealthsomethinghadcomeoveritthatcouldnotbeeffaced.

           Thememoryofthisball,then,becameanoccupationforEmma.

           WhenevertheWednesdaycameroundshesaidtoherselfassheawoke,"Ah!Iwasthereaweekafortnightthreeweeksago."

           Andlittlebylittlethefacesgrewconfusedinherremembrance

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