-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Гюстав Флобер
-
- Госпожа Бовари
-
- Стр. 66/303
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
Leon
did
not
know
that
when
he
left
her
in
despair
she
rose
after
he
had
gone
to
see
him
in
the
street
.
She
concerned
herself
about
his
comings
and
goings
;
she
watched
his
face
;
she
invented
quite
a
history
to
find
an
excuse
for
going
to
his
room
.
The
chemist
's
wife
seemed
happy
to
her
to
sleep
under
the
same
roof
,
and
her
thoughts
constantly
centered
upon
this
house
,
like
the
"
Lion
d'Or
"
pigeons
,
who
came
there
to
dip
their
red
feet
and
white
wings
in
its
gutters
.
But
the
more
Emma
recognised
her
love
,
the
more
she
crushed
it
down
,
that
it
might
not
be
evident
,
that
she
might
make
it
less
.
She
would
have
liked
Leon
to
guess
it
,
and
she
imagined
chances
,
catastrophes
that
should
facilitate
this
.
What
restrained
her
was
,
no
doubt
,
idleness
and
fear
,
and
a
sense
of
shame
also
.
She
thought
she
had
repulsed
him
too
much
,
that
the
time
was
past
,
that
all
was
lost
.
Then
,
pride
,
and
joy
of
being
able
to
say
to
herself
,
"
I
am
virtuous
,
"
and
to
look
at
herself
in
the
glass
taking
resigned
poses
,
consoled
her
a
little
for
the
sacrifice
she
believed
she
was
making
.
Then
the
lusts
of
the
flesh
,
the
longing
for
money
,
and
the
melancholy
of
passion
all
blended
themselves
into
one
suffering
,
and
instead
of
turning
her
thoughts
from
it
,
she
clave
to
it
the
more
,
urging
herself
to
pain
,
and
seeking
everywhere
occasion
for
it
.
She
was
irritated
by
an
ill-served
dish
or
by
a
half-open
door
;
bewailed
the
velvets
she
had
not
,
the
happiness
she
had
missed
,
her
too
exalted
dreams
,
her
narrow
home
.
What
exasperated
her
was
that
Charles
did
not
seem
to
notice
her
anguish
.
His
conviction
that
he
was
making
her
happy
seemed
to
her
an
imbecile
insult
,
and
his
sureness
on
this
point
ingratitude
.
For
whose
sake
,
then
was
she
virtuous
?
Was
it
not
for
him
,
the
obstacle
to
all
felicity
,
the
cause
of
all
misery
,
and
,
as
it
were
,
the
sharp
clasp
of
that
complex
strap
that
bucked
her
in
on
all
sides
.
On
him
alone
,
then
,
she
concentrated
all
the
various
hatreds
that
resulted
from
her
boredom
,
and
every
effort
to
diminish
only
augmented
it
;
for
this
useless
trouble
was
added
to
the
other
reasons
for
despair
,
and
contributed
still
more
to
the
separation
between
them
.
Her
own
gentleness
to
herself
made
her
rebel
against
him
.
Domestic
mediocrity
drove
her
to
lewd
fancies
,
marriage
tenderness
to
adulterous
desires
.
She
would
have
like
Charles
to
beat
her
,
that
she
might
have
a
better
right
to
hate
him
,
to
revenge
herself
upon
him
.
She
was
surprised
sometimes
at
the
atrocious
conjectures
that
came
into
her
thoughts
,
and
she
had
to
go
on
smiling
,
to
hear
repeated
to
her
at
all
hours
that
she
was
happy
,
to
pretend
to
be
happy
,
to
let
it
be
believed
.
Yet
she
had
loathing
of
this
hypocrisy
.
She
was
seized
with
the
temptation
to
flee
somewhere
with
Leon
to
try
a
new
life
;
but
at
once
a
vague
chasm
full
of
darkness
opened
within
her
soul
.
"
Besides
,
he
no
longer
loves
me
,
"
she
thought
.
"
What
is
to
become
of
me
?
What
help
is
to
be
hoped
for
,
what
consolation
,
what
solace
?
"
She
was
left
broken
,
breathless
,
inert
,
sobbing
in
a
low
voice
,
with
flowing
tears
.
