"
Then she smothered her with caresses, placing the head of the infirm
old lady on her knees, kissing her hands, smiling at her happily,
and attending to all her requirements with a display of passionate
affection. After a time, she believed in the reality of this comedy,
she imagined she had obtained the pardon of Madame Raquin, and spoke of
nothing but the delight she experienced at having secured her pardon.
This was too much for the paralysed woman. It almost killed her. At the
kisses of her niece, she again felt that sensation of bitter repugnance
and rage which came over her, morning and night, when Laurent took her
in his arms to lift her up, or lay her down. She was obliged to submit
to the disgusting caresses of the wretch who had betrayed and killed her
son. She could not even use her hand to wipe away the kisses that this
woman left on her cheeks; and, for hours and hours together, she felt
these kisses burning her.
She became the doll of the murderers of Camille, a doll that they
dressed, that they turned to right and left, and that they made use of
according to their requirements and whims. She remained inert in their
hands, as if she had been a lay-figure, and yet she lived, and became
excited and indignant at the least contact with Therese or Laurent.
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