It was no longer at nighttime, alone,
that they suffered from their intimacy; entire days were passed amidst
anxiety and harrowing shocks. It was one constant scene of pain and
terror. They lived in a perfect pandemonium, fighting, rendering all
they did and said bitter and cruel, seeking to fling one another to the
bottom of the abyss which they felt beneath their feet, and falling into
it together.
Ideas of separation had, indeed, occurred to both of them. Each had
thought of flight, of seeking some repose far from this Arcade of the
Pont Neuf where the damp and filth seemed adapted to their desolated
life. But they dared not, they could not run away. It seemed impossible
for them to avoid reviling each other, to avoid remaining there to
suffer and cause pain. They proved obstinate in their hatred and
cruelty. A sort of repulsion and attraction separated and kept them
together at the same time. They behaved in the identical manner of two
persons who, after quarrelling, wish to part, and who, nevertheless,
continue returning to shout out fresh insults at one another.
Moreover, material obstacles stood in the way of flight. What were
they to do with the impotent woman? What could be said to the Thursday
evening guests? If they fled, these people would, perhaps, suspect
something.
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