Sarrasine by Honoré de Balzac
page 19 of 50 (38%)
page 19 of 50 (38%)
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"What does this mean?" queried my young partner. "Is he her husband? I believe I am dreaming. Where am I?" "You!" I retorted, "you, madame, who are easily excited, and who, understanding so well the most imperceptible emotions, are able to cultivate in a man's heart the most delicate of sentiments, without crushing it, without shattering it at the very outset, you who have compassion for the tortures of the heart, and who, with the wit of the Parisian, combine a passionate temperament worthy of Spain or Italy----" She realized that my words were heavily charged with bitter irony; and, thereupon, without seeming to notice it, she interrupted me to say: "Oh! you describe me to suit your own taste. A strange kind of tyranny! You wish me not to be _myself_!" "Oh! I wish nothing," I cried, alarmed by the severity of her manner. "At all events, it is true, is it not, that you like to hear stories of the fierce passions, kindled in our heart by the enchanting women of the South?" "Yes. And then?" "Why, I will come to your house about nine o'clock to-morrow evening, and elucidate this mystery for you." "No," she replied, with a pout; "I wish it done now." |
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