And it was at the end of this article that the
comparison with a fly occurred, a fly of sunny hue which has flown up
out of the dung, a fly which sucks in death on the carrion tolerated by
the roadside and then buzzing, dancing and glittering like a precious
stone enters the windows of palaces and poisons the men within by merely
settling on them in her flight.
Muffat lifted his head; his eyes stared fixedly; he gazed at the fire.
"Well?" asked Nana.
But he did not answer. It seemed as though he wanted to read the article
again. A cold, shivering feeling was creeping from his scalp to his
shoulders. This article had been written anyhow. The phrases were wildly
extravagant; the unexpected epigrams and quaint collocations of words
went beyond all bounds. Yet notwithstanding this, he was struck by what
he had read, for it had rudely awakened within him much that for months
past he had not cared to think about.
He looked up. Nana had grown absorbed in her ecstatic
self-contemplation. She was bending her neck and was looking attentively
in the mirror at a little brown mark above her right haunch. She was
touching it with the tip of her finger and by dint of bending backward
was making it stand out more clearly than ever.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353