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- Госпожа Бовари
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A
woman
who
had
laid
on
herself
such
sacrifices
could
well
allow
herself
certain
whims
.
She
bought
a
Gothic
prie-dieu
,
and
in
a
month
spent
fourteen
francs
on
lemons
for
polishing
her
nails
;
she
wrote
to
Rouen
for
a
blue
cashmere
gown
;
she
chose
one
of
Lheureux
's
finest
scarves
,
and
wore
it
knotted
around
her
waist
over
her
dressing-gown
;
and
,
with
closed
blinds
and
a
book
in
her
hand
,
she
lay
stretched
out
on
a
couch
in
this
garb
.
She
often
changed
her
coiffure
;
she
did
her
hair
a
la
Chinoise
,
in
flowing
curls
,
in
plaited
coils
;
she
parted
in
on
one
side
and
rolled
it
under
like
a
man
's
.
She
wanted
to
learn
Italian
;
she
bought
dictionaries
,
a
grammar
,
and
a
supply
of
white
paper
.
She
tried
serious
reading
,
history
,
and
philosophy
.
Sometimes
in
the
night
Charles
woke
up
with
a
start
,
thinking
he
was
being
called
to
a
patient
.
"
I
'm
coming
,
"
he
stammered
;
and
it
was
the
noise
of
a
match
Emma
had
struck
to
relight
the
lamp
.
But
her
reading
fared
like
her
piece
of
embroidery
,
all
of
which
,
only
just
begun
,
filled
her
cupboard
;
she
took
it
up
,
left
it
,
passed
on
to
other
books
.
She
had
attacks
in
which
she
could
easily
have
been
driven
to
commit
any
folly
.
She
maintained
one
day
,
in
opposition
to
her
husband
,
that
she
could
drink
off
a
large
glass
of
brandy
,
and
,
as
Charles
was
stupid
enough
to
dare
her
to
,
she
swallowed
the
brandy
to
the
last
drop
.
In
spite
of
her
vapourish
airs
(
as
the
housewives
of
Yonville
called
them
)
,
Emma
,
all
the
same
,
never
seemed
gay
,
and
usually
she
had
at
the
corners
of
her
mouth
that
immobile
contraction
that
puckers
the
faces
of
old
maids
,
and
those
of
men
whose
ambition
has
failed
.
She
was
pale
all
over
,
white
as
a
sheet
;
the
skin
of
her
nose
was
drawn
at
the
nostrils
,
her
eyes
looked
at
you
vaguely
.
After
discovering
three
grey
hairs
on
her
temples
,
she
talked
much
of
her
old
age
.
She
often
fainted
.
One
day
she
even
spat
blood
,
and
,
as
Charles
fussed
around
her
showing
his
anxiety
--
"
Bah
!
"
she
answered
,
"
what
does
it
matter
?
"
Charles
fled
to
his
study
and
wept
there
,
both
his
elbows
on
the
table
,
sitting
in
an
arm-chair
at
his
bureau
under
the
phrenological
head
.
Then
he
wrote
to
his
mother
begging
her
to
come
,
and
they
had
many
long
consultations
together
on
the
subject
of
Emma
.