The moon that was covered by the clouds came out

That was where the new quarter started to grow, – the poor huts, the newly opened roads, the high chimneys of the factories. Christophe thought of the acacia forest he had seen in the evening, and wondered:

– There’s even running running there…

The old city, sleeping in the shade, with all that was there, its living people and the dead people became more and more loved by him: for he felt something threatening that city…

Hostis habet Muros …

Let’s quickly save what we have! Death lurks everything we love. Let’s rush to the eternal bronze for those faces that need to disappear. Do we treasure the treasures of our fathers before the flames came to burn Priamon Castle?

Christophe went to the train that left for the point, and traveled urgently as the flowing stream fled. But as the people of ancient times who saved the gods of their towns from drowning when the waves destroyed their homes, Christophe also carried a spark of life that had come to light in his own country; took the sacred soul of the past with him elsewhere.

Jacqueline and Olivier had been approaching for some time. Jacqueline had lost her father. This death had deeply shocked her. In the face of a real accident, he felt the painful affliction of his other pains; and the affection with which Olivier treated her again revived her feelings for the spouse. Jacqueline reminded me of recent past years, the sad times that had come from Martha after the aunt’s death and the blessed days of love. She thought to herself that she was ungrateful to life, and that she could be happy that she didn’t take the little thing she had given her. And that little thing he now noticed was carefully preserved by him. He was even more inclined to the fact that he left with her husband, as a doctor, who wanted him to evaporate his grief by leaving for some time from Paris, and making as though some kind of hope for places where they had loved each other in their first year of marriage. When they saw this cute face of their former love, which they thought were already covered by themselves, and knew that it would soon disappear again, how long? maybe? – they were in such a submissive state that they clinged to that love with the passion of despair… When they saw this cute face of their former love, which they thought were already covered by themselves, and knew that it would soon disappear again, how long? maybe? – they were in such a submissive state that they clinged to that love with the passion of despair… When they saw this cute face of their former love, which they thought were already covered by themselves, and knew that it would soon disappear again, how long? maybe? – they were in such a submissive state that they clinged to that love with the passion of despair…

– Ice, stay with us!

But they knew they would lose it.

When Jacqueline returned to Paris, she felt a new little life under her heart, burning in love. But love was gone. That burden, which became increasingly heavy on Jacqueline, did not attract his wife to his wife. Jacqueline didn’t know the joy she had been waiting for. He was anxious about himself. Before he was in pain, he often thought that the birth of a little child would be his salvation. That little child had come, but no salvation. In horror, Jacqueline knew that human plant, whose roots were in her body, was still sprouting, sucking her life and worthiness. He spent days in distracted and gloomy eyes, listening to how the unknown creature who had captured his power absorbed his being. It was vague humor, sweet, exhausting, distressing. He woke up in such a jolt, – sweat in power, shivering, flapping in revolt. He struggled against the trap that nature had wrapped around him. He wanted to live, he wanted to be free, he felt the nature had deceived him. Then she shamed her thoughts, she felt unselfish, she asked herself whether she was worse or different than other women. Gradually, he rested again, swarming the drug as the tree from which the juice leaks, dreaming of the living fruit that matured within him. What was that? What would it be like? Then she shamed her thoughts, she felt unselfish, she asked herself whether she was worse or different than other women. Gradually, he rested again, swarming the drug as the tree from which the juice leaks, dreaming of the living fruit that matured within him. What was that? What would it be like? Then she shamed her thoughts, she felt unselfish, she asked herself whether she was worse or different than other women. Gradually, he rested again, swarming the drug as the tree from which the juice leaks, dreaming of the living fruit that matured within him. What was that? What would it be like?

When he heard that first cry and saw that little, sad, moving human body in the light of the day, his heart melted from affection! A short dazzling moment he then knew of the glory of motherhood, the greatest that can be found in the world: that he has created a being from his own blood with his suffering, created man. And the great wave of love that uses the whole universe, then hurried over him, took him from the busy position, took him with him; but you do not know the joy he has: for you have not suffered…

Then the wave fell down again; and the soul met in the bottom.

Olivier leaned against the motion of the infant child; and Jacquelelle, smiling, tried to understand what a mystical bond of life was between the two and that miserable creature that could hardly be said to be human. Gently and slightly disgusted, he touched his lips with a little yellow and wrinkled head. Jacqueline looked at her, enviously pushing her away; he took the child and squeezed it against his chest, kissing it kissing. The child started to cry, he gave it away; and turning his head towards the wall, Jacqueline himself cried. Olivier came to him, embraced him, dry his tears with his lips; Jacqueline embraced her and forced herself to smile; then he asked that he be allowed to rest, the child next to him … Oh, what can you do when love is dead? Man, the essence of which is more than half intellectual, never loses any strong feeling without retaining some kind of trace in the brain, some thought. His love may go out, but he cannot forget that he has loved. Instead, a woman who has loved without intelligence, perfectly, and ceases to love, even without reason and perfectly, what can she do? Do you want to love? Imagine it? But if he is too weak to do it, too true to imagine…? Also without reason and perfectly, what can he do? Do you want to love? Imagine it? But if he is too weak to do it, too true to imagine…? Also without reason and perfectly, what can he do? Do you want to love? Imagine it? But if he is too weak to do it, too true to imagine…?

Jacqueline rose to her elbows in her bed and watched the child gently pitying. What was he in that? Whatever he was, he wasn’t entirely his mother. He was also “another”. And that “second” was no longer loved by Jacqueline. Little wretch! Dear wrath! Jacqueline was irritated by this new creature who wanted to connect her to a dead past; and leaning toward the child she kissed it, kissed…

The biggest accident of modern women is that they are too free, but not free! If they were even freer, they would like to have ties, they would find their charm and certainty. If they were less free, they would succumb to bondage because they knew they couldn’t break them; and then they would suffer less of them. But the worst thing is if people have ties that cannot bind and obligations that may be defeated.

Would Jacqueline know that her little home had been assigned to her throughout her life, so it wouldn’t have been so uncomfortable and cumbersome for her to try to make it satisfactory; and he would have been as far as the end, namely loved. But he knew he was able to get away from it; and it choked him. He can rise up in rebellion: and he finally thought he was upright.

Our current moral researchers are strange creatures. At the expense of attention, all of their other being is overwhelmed. They did not try any more than to see life, I doubt it understands not, in any case, do not they try it WILL . When they have noticed the inherent idiosyncrasies of human beings and have marked them in memory, they think that the task is fulfilled. And they say:

– That’s what it’s like.

They’re not trying to change that. It seems like the mere existence of there would be a moral virtue in their opinion. All the weaknesses that are invented are shrouded in some sort of divine justification. The world is democratizing. Before ancient times only the king was irresponsible. Today it is all people. And first and foremost idolatry. Beautiful Advisors! They try to prove to the weak, to what extent they are weak, and that nature’s ordinance has so, unshakenly, and fortunate, according to all that they can and conscientiously endeavor. What can the weak now be like sitting around your hands? Good that they still don’t admire themselves. When a woman hears a caring for her, that she is a sick child, she starts to be proud that she is. The man being treated starts to nurture his cowardice and grow it more and more. If someone started to entertain themselves by telling the child that it is time for youth, when the soul has not yet found its balance, but is ready for crime, suicide, all kinds of physical and mental corruption, and promises the child such blemishes to forgive, – he would speed up crimes immediately on the spot. His husband does not have to repeat that he is not free, he is no longer there, but throws himself into life. Tell the woman that she is responsible, the master of her body and will, – so she is. But you are lame, you are not saying it to him, because your own interests require that he not know it!… when the soul has not yet found its balance, but is ready for crime, suicide, all kinds of physical and mental corruption, and promises the child such blemishes, – he would prompt crimes immediately. His husband does not have to repeat that he is not free, he is no longer there, but throws himself into life. Tell the woman that she is responsible, the master of her body and will, – so she is. But you are lame, you are not saying it to him, because your own interests require that he not know it!… when the soul has not yet found its balance, but is ready for crime, suicide, all kinds of physical and mental corruption, and promises the child such blemishes, – he would prompt crimes immediately. His husband does not have to repeat that he is not free, he is no longer there, but throws himself into life. Tell the woman that she is responsible, the master of her body and will, – so she is. But you are lame, you are not saying it to him, because your own interests require that he not know it!… that he is not free, he is no longer, but throws himself into life. Tell the woman that she is responsible, the master of her body and will, – so she is. But you are lame, you are not saying it to him, because your own interests require that he not know it!… that he is not free, he is no longer, but throws himself into life. Tell the woman that she is responsible, the master of her body and will, – so she is. But you are lame, you are not saying it to him, because your own interests require that he not know it!…

The miserable environment in which Jacqueline lived led him more and more astray. When he was weaned from his husband, he had once again joined the world he’d despised as a little girl. Jacqueline and her friends’ companions around her now formed a small ensemble of rich, inexperienced, intelligent and frivolous young men and women. There was complete freedom in thoughts and speeches, freedom that was only curbed by intelligence as some kind of spice . Those people would have liked to have taken the emblem of the Rabelais monastery as their motto:

Fais ce que Voudras . [Do whatever you want.]

But it would have been too demanding: for they did not want much; they were Thélème’s nervousness. They proclaimed the complete freedom of instincts; but the instincts were very dull in them; and their whining was above all done in the brain. They enjoy being drowned and drowned in a large pool of civilian water, a stubborn and fluttering, that warm-casting bath where human activity, his rough vitality, the primitive nature of his animal nature, and the growth of faith, will, duties, and passions are rotting. In such jelly-like thoughts, Jacqueline’s slim body now sinks. Olivier could not prevent him from doing that. Moreover, the sickness of the time had corrupted him: he did not think he had the right to shackle another’s freedom; he didn’t want to take anything he loved, unless he got it without asking for love. But Jacqueline was not very grateful to her for this behavior, because her right was freedom.

The worst thing was that Jacqueline, who had been living in such a twin world of such character, had a natural character that hated half life: when she once believed, she surrendered; his burning and prone to his little soul, even though it was very selfish, burned all the bridges behind him; and with his community Olivier he still had the unspeakable moral he was always willing to put into practice, even when he was abnormal.

His new friends were too wise to show the inexperienced what they really were. If they theoretically preached complete freedom of chaste and to societal prejudices in relation to, so they kept a good practice concerns the fact that not only hurt those prejudices else, but if one of them was able to provide them with an advantage; they used morality and society to deceive them, just as unbelieving servants betray their hosts. And they both deceived, out of habit and idle. There were many of those husbands who knew that their wives had lovers. And neither did your wife know that their men had mistresses. The scandal will only come when it gets public. These beautiful Marriages rested on the basis of a reciprocal, non-verbal agreement – a covenant of criminals. But Jacqueline was more direct, he played the whole bet. The first requirement was to be honest. And another: to be honest. And third: to be more honest. Honesty was also the virtues by which the idea came to the gig. This shows that everything is healthy for the healthy and all the corrupt for the corrupt. How ugly is sometimes to be honest! The mediocre is the sin of begging to explore the depths of his being. They only find their mediocrity from there; but their self-esteem boasts of it. Honesty was also the virtues by which the idea came to the gig. This shows that everything is healthy for the healthy and all the corrupt for the corrupt. How ugly is sometimes to be honest! The mediocre is the sin of begging to explore the depths of his being. They only find their mediocrity from there; but their self-esteem boasts of it. Honesty was also the virtues by which the idea came to the gig. This shows that everything is healthy for the healthy and all the corrupt for the corrupt. How ugly is sometimes to be honest! The mediocre is the sin of begging to explore the depths of his being. They only find their mediocrity from there; but their self-esteem boasts of it.

Jacqueline spent her time exploring herself with such a mirror. And he saw the things which he would have best not to see: for when he had seen them, he had no power to turn away from them; and instead of fighting against what he saw, he noticed that he was seen to be swelling: those things grew huge and ultimately seized all his attention and thought.

The child was not enough to fulfill his life. She could not breastfeed it: the little one started to get sick with her. Had to hire a breastfeeder. It was first a great grief… But soon it became a relief. The child can now be great; it grew fast, a lively little boy who didn’t have much trouble, mostly lying and not crying at night. Breastfeeder, a solid woman from the Nivernais region, who didn’t have to breastfeed for the first time, and who always got attached to her nursing, jealous, and other people with an embarrassing appetite for her care, – was like the right mother of the child. When Jacqueline expressed her opinion on a child’s affair, she was not a scapegoat; and if Jacqueline started to argue, she finally realized she knew nothing about it. He was no longer properly recovered after the birth of the child: the onset of inflammation of the vein was lying and waking him; when he was forced to defeat the weeks in the bed, he buried his own soulful worries; his already agitated thoughts stumbled upon to complain one and the same, with the power of a false sense of delusion: “He had not lived, and now his life was over …” For his imagination had been injured: he thought he had been made as if he was rude; and then, in him, a strange, bitter and unexpected awakening arose for his innocent cause, the child. That feeling is not so rare in mothers as they think; but it is encrypted and adorned; and those who have experienced it are ashamed to admit it even to themselves and to the secret of their hearts. Jacqueline severely condemned himself; there was a struggle between his selfishness and his mother’s love. When he saw the child sleeping in that innocent and happy, he was asleep; but then afterwards he thought bitterly:

– He’s killed me.

And he could not curb himself in the fierce rebellion of that indifferent dream of a sleeping creature, an object he had paid for with his suffering. Yet, as Jacqueline had already improved and the child became bigger, the mother was dimly confused with the same hostile feeling. And because he was ashamed of him, he pushed his anger into another object: his husband. He thought he was still sick; and inferior care for one’s own health, the restlessness that the doctors, in turn, held in motion, recommending it as ineffectiveness, even though it was just a bad reason, all these things focused Jacqueline’s thoughts on him alone. Excellent modern neurasthenia treatment: give me a second, minus-hypertrophy! Why not hit the mouth of selfishness or lead some sick moral reagent to the blood to get to the heart if he doesn’t have it too much!

Jacqueline got out of bed with her physical strength, fatter, younger, more sick than ever before. His isolation for a few months had cut off the last thoughts that bound him to Olivier. When he was close to her husband, she was still under the influence of her ideal character, Olivier, who, with all her weaknesses, was still strong in her faith; then Jacqueline had in vain fought against slavery in which his common sense kept his thoughts; in vain against the sight of the one who passed through him and forced him to condemn himself, as annoying as Jacqueline was. But when he accidentally separated him from his husband – when he did not feel his far-sighted love weighing himself, – when he was now free, – immediately followed Jacqueline after his former kind-of-mutual trust as a result of Olivier’s surrender to Olivier; some kind of anger that he had worn from her husband’s tenderness, the affection that Jacqueline had no longer felt in her heart. – Who might guess what a strange and helpless bitterness can once arise in the soul of the being we love and think we love ourselves? Suddenly, everything can change. Another loved yesterday, it seemed, and the woman herself thought so. Now he no longer loves. The man he loved has been swept away from his thoughts. The man notices that he has nothing for the woman anymore. He cannot understand it: for he has not seen a long development that has taken place secretly in a woman; he could not foresee what the hidden hostility to the woman has been; he does not want to understand the causes of such revenge and anger. The reasons that are often very distant, complex and obscure – some of them hiding in the veils of the alcove, – others are hurt by self-love, manifest and condemned secrets of the heart, – others … what do they all know, even a woman themselves? There are unknown insults that a man has made unknowingly and which a woman never forgives. Never can they be found out and the woman will not even be able to guess them; but the insult is sliced ​​into his heart: the heart never forgets it. complicated and obscure, – some of them are hiding in the veils of the alcov, There are unknown insults that a man has made unknowingly and which a woman never forgives. Never can they be found out and the woman will not even be able to guess them; but the insult is sliced ​​into his heart: the heart never forgets it. complicated and obscure, – some of them are hiding in the veils of the alcov, There are unknown insults that a man has made unknowingly and which a woman never forgives. Never can they be found out and the woman will not even be able to guess them; but the insult is sliced ​​into his heart: the heart never forgets it. Never can they be found out and the woman will not even be able to guess them; but the insult is sliced ​​into his heart: the heart never forgets it. Never can they be found out and the woman will not even be able to guess them; but the insult is sliced ​​into his heart: the heart never forgets it.

To fight such a terrible uproar would have needed a different man than Olivier; a man who would have been closer to nature, at the same time a simpler and more supple man, unconcerned in his own emotional conjecture, a wealthy man who could, if necessary, have been unaware of what his mind would have accepted. Olivier had already in advance won himself and took all his courage: he was so clear that he had noticed a long-standing heredity in his wife, noticed that Jacquel’s mother’s spirit now appeared in her daughter again; He saw his wife sink as a depth of his stone’s characteristics: and when Olivier was weak and helpless, he just accelerated sinking, trying to prevent it. He forced himself calm. Jacqueline tried to unconsciously let her get out of that calm state, make her fuss in speeches, brutal, rough, so that she could despise her for a better reason. And if Olivier then surrendered to anger, Jacqueline despised him. But when Olivier then shrugged off and was humiliated, the wife despised her more and more. And if the man did not surrender to anger, he did not want to surrender, – then hated him. But the worst was silence, which they often closed with each other for days. A poisonous, crushing, lousy silence that ultimately frustrates even the most temperate creatures to their rage, so that they sometimes get the lust to do evil, scream, annoy one to shout. Silence, black silence, that at the bottom of it, love will definitely rupture and disintegrate, silence in the middle of which people differ from each other and roar into the night as the twists and turns that travel on their own paths … They had come to their point of development, all that they did would just hurry apart, too, that they too tried to send each other. Their lives became intolerable. Coincidence rushed only to the natural course of events.

For about a year, Cécile Fleury was often in the Jeannin family. Olivier had met him at Christophe. Jacqueline then invited her to visit them; and Cécile continued to acquaint himself with the couple after Christophe had already divorced. Jacqueline was good at Cécile: although Jacqueline was not musical and although she kept Cécile a little bit everyday, she enjoyed her song and her soothing closeness. It was fun for Olivier Jeannin to play with Cécile. Gradually Cécile had become a friend of the house. Cécile aroused confidence: as she stepped openly, looking healthy and cheerful at Jeannin’s Hall, and when her somewhat coarse laughter was heard, she whispered so that she felt good, as if the sun’s radius had melted through the mist. At that time, the heart of Olivier and Jacquel enjoyed untold relief. When Cécile left, they made their minds say to him:

– No, stay still, we’re so cold!

When Jacqueline was away from home, Olivier Cecile saw more often; and she could not hide her from the sorrow. He opened his heart, without reflection, as at least a weak and affectionate being that is choking and must have faith in himself and relieve his feelings accordingly. Cécile became moved; he healed his acquaintance with motherly words. He pityed Jeanne, both of them; he asked Olivier not to let his mind be depressed. But whether he was somehow ashamed of this kind of revelation of secrets more than Olivier, or what might have been the reason for this, he did not come to Olivier’s home as often as before, but invented all kinds of pretexts. Surely he didn’t think he was respectful of Jacqueline: he had no right to know Jacqueline’s secrets. At least Olivier guessed it as his expulsion; and Cecile was right about him: for he himself reproached himself for having spoken. But when Cécile was no longer in the house, Olivier noticed what Cécile had come to him for a long time. Olivier was used to believing in his affairs; only Cécile was able to release him from the submissive anxiety that plagued him. Olivier was skilled enough to break down the emotions of the heart to see what this feeling was like. He wouldn’t have scratched Cécile about it. But he was not able to resist his desire to even write to himself what he felt. For many years, he had become a dangerous way to escape the paper with his own thoughts. From that, he had come to the years of love. But now, when he was left alone, he had to fall back on that old habit: when the suffering grew completely intolerable, the method eased; and, moreover, it was necessary for the artist who specified the activity itself. So he described himself alone, wrote his thoughts on paper, as if he had talked about them to Cécile, but even more freely because they were not meant to be read by Cécile.

Now it was a coincidence that those papers had to be seen by Jacqueline. It happened one day when she felt closer to her husband than for years. While arranging his chapel, he read the old love letters that Olivier had once sent him. Jacqueline nodded so she wept. He was sitting in the corner of the district, and couldn’t continue his arrangement; he remembered the whole past; and his conscience troubled him that he had destroyed it. He wondered how Olivier might mourn: never had such a thought in his cold mood been due to his head; he might have forgotten her husband, but he didn’t have the idea that Olivier would have suffered for him. He sighed his heart.

– Ah, Olivier, Olivier, what have we done? We’re crazy! We must no longer produce pain for each other!

Jospa Olivier would have come home at the moment!

But at that very moment, Jacqueline found the letters from Olivier. – Did Jacqueline really think Olivier had betrayed her? Perhaps. But did it matter? The deception was not so much a deception by Jacqueline himself as the desire for it. He would have preferred to forgive the man he loved for having had a mistress as if he had given his soul secretly to another. And that’s where he was right.

– That’s crazy! maybe some … – (Poloics, for whom the deception of love does not bring pain other than when it is fully implemented!… if the heart is loyal, the cowardice of the body is a trivial matter.

Jacqueline never thought about trying to get Olivier back. Too late! He no longer loved him enough. Or maybe you loved it too much. No, he wasn’t jealous. His whole confidence was collapsed, the rest was still in his husband’s faith and hope. He did not consider for himself that he had abandoned those qualities in his husband that he had deprived him of courage, drove him to this love, that this love was also innocent, and that no man can ultimately determine whether he loves or not. His head did not bother to compare his own exclamation to Christophie for this emotional socialization: he did not love Christoph, Christophe was not involved! Excessively exaggerated, he thought Olivier had lied to him, he was no longer her husband. The last support disappeared from Jacqueline, just as he had reached his hand to grab it … Everything came to an end. Olivier could never know what Jacqueline had suffered that day. But when he saw Jacqueline, he got the clear feeling that he was all over.

From that moment on, they no longer talked to each other except in the presence of other people. They kept an eye on each other, like the two wild animals in the round, who are always alert and afraid. Jeremias Gotthelf describes a gloomy position of a married couple with a ruthless humor, a man and a wife who no longer love each other but guard one another on two sides, hate each other’s health, notice each other’s signs of illness, or even hope to kill each other or even hope for it. however, it feels like the idea that one would have an unexpected accident and both imagine that he is stronger than the other. There were moments when Jacqueline and Olivier almost imagined that one of them thought this way. Neither thought so; But it was too much for them to imagine something like Jacqueline, who could think of himself at night with the moments of sensual insomnia, that the man was stronger and consumed him and would soon beat him… The terrible brainstorming of the confused imagination and heart! – And yet he loved the best of their natures still on the bottom!…

Olivier was depressed under his burden so that he tried not to struggle anymore, but he gave up and eased Jacquel’s soul rudder from his hand. When Jacqueline stayed in her own way, without a pilot who would have guided her, she became a strange dizziness of freedom; he would have needed a power against which he would have rebelled: if he hadn’t, he had to create it for himself. He was overwhelmed by his hidden evil. Until then, he had never intended to leave her husband, even if he suffered. Now he thought he had reached all ties. He wanted to love it before it was too late: (for he thought, as young as he was, old himself.) – And he fell in love. He was susceptible to being subjected to an imaginary, slanting passion that clings to the first person in front, for example, only seen as a flash, even a creature that is only known by reputation, sometimes just by name; exposed to that fervor, which, once upon a man’s finger, no longer relieves his grip, but assures his heart that it cannot live without a person of its choice; a feeling that destroys the heart completely and makes it empty from all the past that has just filled it: former feelings, moral thoughts, memories, self-esteem and respect for others. And when this passion dies when it no longer has any destruction, because it has all burned, what kind of new character most often grows out of those ruins: a nature where no goodness is found, no pity, no youth or imagination; a nature that only wants to dig and film life,

This time, as usual, the dreaded passion for a person who was best suited to produce disappointment at the woman’s heart. The Jacqueline pair fell in love with a female general, a Parisian writer who was neither beautiful nor young, but clumsy, red-eyed and retired; his teeth were ruined, the drought of his heart was almost terrible; his only merit was that he was fashionable and had made a large number of women unhappy. He did not even have the defense that he would not have known his selfishness: for he was so excited about his poems. He knew that such a tepsi: selfishness hidden in art is like a bird watcher, a fire that dazzles the weak. Many women from Jacqueline’s circle had been ambushed: last time by one of her friends, recently married woman; he had been spoiled by this writer without much effort and then left him. Those deceived by no means died of it, though they tried to conceal the matter clumsily, which again delighted the world. The most horribly deceived of them loved too much of their mundane interests and refinements in order to keep their madness under the clear sense of reason. Therefore, they did not want to make any public scandal. If they deceived their husbands and friends or they were deceived and suffered, then it always happened in silence. They were the true heroine of the gossip. even though they tried to hide it clumsily, which again delighted the whole world. The most horribly deceived of them loved too much of their mundane interests and refinements in order to keep their madness under the clear sense of reason. Therefore, they did not want to make any public scandal. If they deceived their husbands and friends or they were deceived and suffered, then it always happened in silence. They were the true heroine of the gossip. even though they tried to hide it clumsily, which again delighted the whole world. The most horribly deceived of them loved too much of their mundane interests and refinements in order to keep their madness under the clear sense of reason. Therefore, they did not want to make any public scandal. If they deceived their husbands and friends or they were deceived and suffered, then it always happened in silence. They were the true heroine of the gossip. so it always happened in silence. They were the true heroine of the gossip. so it always happened in silence. They were the true heroine of the gossip.

But Jacqueline was hissing: she could not only do what she said but also talk about what she did. On the basis of his madness, he did not hide any reasoning of reason, but he denied himself completely. He had the dangerous help that he was always straight to himself and never retreated from the consequences of his actions. He was better than the others in his circle: therefore he was two crazy. When he loved when he made his head to commit adultery, he threw himself into it with a desperate straightforwardness.

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