Là-bas by J.-K. (Joris-Karl) Huysmans
page 60 of 341 (17%)
page 60 of 341 (17%)
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madame.
"Yes, and then it's worse yet. Fire behind a grated window of mica. Flame in prison. Depressing! Ah, those fine fires of faggots and dry vine stocks out in the country. They smell good and they cast a golden glow over everything. Modern life has set that in order. The luxury of the poorest of peasants is impossible in Paris except for people who have copious incomes." The bell-ringer entered. Every hair of his bristling moustache was beaded with a globule of snow. With his knitted bonnet, his sheepskin coat, his fur mittens and goloshes, he resembled a Samoyed, fresh from the pole. "I won't shake hands," he said, "for I am covered with grease and oil. What weather! Just think, I've been scouring the bells ever since early this morning. I'm worried about them." "Why?" "Why! You know very well that frost contracts the metal and sometimes cracks or breaks it. Some of these bitterly cold winters we have lost a good many, because bells suffer worse than we do in bad weather.--Wife, is there any hot water in the other room, so I can wash up?" "Can't we help you set the table?" Des Hermies proposed. But the good woman refused. "No, no, sit down. Dinner is ready." "Mighty appetizing," said Durtal, inhaling the odour of a peppery |
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