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Proust, Marcel, 1871-1922

"Swann's Way"

I tried in vain to imagine
how they lay by one another; it was no good. But, from the top of
Saint-Hilaire, it's quite another matter; the whole countryside is spread
out before you like a map. Only, you cannot make out the water; you would
say that there were great rifts in the town, slicing it up so neatly that
it looks like a loaf of bread which still holds together after it has been
cut up. To get it all quite perfect you would have to be in both places at
once; up here on the top of Saint-Hilaire and down there at
Jouy-le-Vicomte."
The Cure had so much exhausted my aunt that no sooner had he gone than she
was obliged to send away Eulalie also.
"Here, my poor Eulalie," she said in a feeble voice, drawing a coin from a
small purse which lay ready to her hand. "This is just something so that
you shall not forget me in your prayers."
"Oh, but, Mme. Octave, I don't think I ought to; you know very well that I
don't come here for that!" So Eulalie would answer, with the same
hesitation and the same embarrassment, every Sunday, as though each
temptation were the first, and with a look of displeasure which enlivened
my aunt and never offended her, for if it so happened that Eulalie, when
she took the money, looked a little less sulky than usual, my aunt would
remark afterwards, "I cannot think what has come over Eulalie; I gave her
just the trifle I always give, and she did not look at all pleased.


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