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?‰mile, 1840-1902

"Four Short Stories By Emile Zola"


"Come, it's time we were off," said Clarisse. "We shan't bring her to
life again. Are you coming, Simonne?"
They all looked at the bed out of the corners of their eyes, but they
did not budge an inch. Nevertheless, they began getting ready and gave
their skirts various little pats. Lucy was again leaning out of window.
She was alone now, and a sorrowful feeling began little by little to
overpower her, as though an intense wave of melancholy had mounted up
from the howling mob. Torches still kept passing, shaking out clouds of
sparks, and far away in the distance the various bands stretched into
the shadows, surging unquietly to and fro like flocks being driven
to the slaughterhouse at night. A dizzy feeling emanated from these
confused masses as the human flood rolled them along--a dizzy feeling,
a sense of terror and all the pity of the massacres to come. The people
were going wild; their voices broke; they were drunk with a fever of
excitement which sent them rushing toward the unknown "out there" beyond
the dark wall of the horizon.
"A BERLIN! A BERLIN! A BERLIN!"
Lucy turned round. She leaned her back against the window, and her face
was very pale.
"Good God! What's to become of us?"
The ladies shook their heads.


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