This atrocious comedy, these duperies of
life, this comparison between the burning kisses in the daytime, and the
indifference played at night, gave new warmth to the blood of the young
woman.
When by chance Madame Raquin and Camille went downstairs, Therese
bounded from her chair, to silently, and with brutal energy, press her
lips to those of her sweetheart, remaining thus breathless and choking
until she heard the stairs creak. Then, she briskly seated herself
again, and resumed her glum grimace, while Laurent calmly continued the
interrupted conversation with Camille. It was like a rapid, blinding
flash of lightning in a leaden sky.
On Thursday, the evening became a little more animated. Laurent,
although bored to death, nevertheless made a point of not missing one
of these gatherings. As a measure of prudence he desired to be known and
esteemed by the friends of Camille. So he had to lend an ear to the idle
talk of Grivet and old Michaud. The latter always related the same tales
of robbery and murder, while Grivet spoke at the same time about his
clerks, his chiefs, and his administration, until the young man
sought refuge beside Olivier and Suzanne, whose stupidity seemed less
wearisome.
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