She found out she was pregnant and detested the thought of
having a child of Laurent's. She had the fear that she would give birth
to a drowned body. She thought that she could feel inside herself a
soft, decomposing corpse. No matter what, she had to rid herself of this
child. She did not tell Laurent. One day she cruelly provoked him and
turned her stomach towards him, hoping to receive a kick. He kicked her
and she let him go on kicking her in the stomach until she thought
she would die. The next day her wish was fulfilled and she had a
miscarriage.
Laurent also led a frightful existence. The days seemed insupportably
long; each brought the same anguish, the same heavy weariness which
overwhelmed him at certain hours with crushing monotony and regularity.
He dragged on his life, terrified every night by the recollections of
the day, and the expectation of the morrow. He knew that henceforth, all
his days would resemble one another, and bring him equal suffering. And
he saw the weeks, months and years gloomily and implacably awaiting him,
coming one after the other to fall upon him and gradually smother him.
When there is no hope in the future, the present appears atrociously
bitter.
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