gutenberg. In Paris, in July, a raging mob had stormed the Bastille, provoking circumspect aristocrats to uproot themselves and take refuge abroad. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. He gave her one of the sweaty red cans. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Work becomes distasteful; one thinks of holidays. She wanted to be alone.
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