I'm too sleepy to stand up. I took the elevator to the floor where I lived. The elevator was not driven by an elevator driver, but by a squint-eyed waiter. He talked up and told me that his sister had been living with the very rich gentleman. Once, she wanted to come back to her mother's house and lead a serious life. Her husband came to squint. The waitress's mother, her mother had several other children, and she was more blessed. Without saying anything, she immediately sent her unknown daughter back to her friend's house. You know, sir, my sister is a lady. She can play the piano and speak Spanish. You may not believe that the sister of the ordinary lady who drives the elevator for you is so capable that she doesn't shut the door at all; if the lady has her own maid, I won't make a fuss. Someday she will have her own car. She's beautiful. If you see her, she'll be a little overbearing, ma'am! That's understandable. She has a heart. Before she left the mansion, she would never go out easily without leaving some small things for the maid to wipe in the wardrobe or cupboard. Sometimes, even in a carriage, she did the same thing, paid the fare, and still hid in a corner, watching the driver rush to wipe the car angrily as a joke. My father regarded the Indian prince he had known as my little brother, and he was also very happy. Of course, this is another style. But the style is croaking. If you haven't traveled, it's a dream. So far only I remain in this world. But it's impossible for people to know. Luck is hanging around my house; who knows if I will one day become President of the Republic? But I'll let you go on and on (I haven't said a word, and I'm beginning to feel drowsy listening to his chatter). Good night, sir. Oh! Thank you, sir. If everyone had your kind heart, there would be no more unfortunate people in the world. But, as my sister said, because I am rich now, I can have something to annoy them a little, that's all. Excuse me for my disrespectful remarks. Good night, sir."

Perhaps every night, in our sleep, we can experience what we think is nothing but misery, because these miseries are vaguely felt in our own unconscious dreams. iliad

Indeed, these nights, I came back late from Las Player, very sleepy. But as soon as the cold weather arrives, I can't fall asleep quickly because the fire is shining like someone is lighting a lamp. But it was just a burst of flame - like a lamp, like the sunset at dusk - and the dazzling light soon died; so I went to sleep, like the second suite we had. We left our own room and went to sleep in the second one. It had its own doorbell, and we had it. When we were woken up suddenly by a bell, our ears heard clearly, but no one rang the doorbell. It has its own servants, guests came to our door to ask us to go out, when we were ready to get up, we had to move back to another suite, that is, the suite before bed last night, but found that the room was empty, no one had come in. The race living indoors, like the most primitive race, was originally Yin-Yang bisexual. After a while, a man appeared in the room, but she looked like a woman. The things in the house have a natural ability to become * people, friends and enemies. For sleepers, the time spent in their sleep is quite different from that spent in the busy life of sober people. Suddenly, like water-time, it flows much faster, and a quarter of an hour seems to have passed a day and a night, while sometimes the water flows much longer, thinking that only a nap, in fact, has been asleep for a whole day. Yes, boarding the sleeping car, the farther people go, the deeper they sink, even the memory can not keep up with themselves, lost the memory, thought has to go back.

Sleep cars, like cars of the sun, move forward in an atmosphere that can't be stopped by any disturbance, so that an extraterrestrial meteorite is needed. Shoot at us, and it will hit the normal sleep (otherwise, it will never stop for any reason, but step by step in depth, step by step, for thousands of years refuse to wake up). Let it make a sharp turn, turn to reality, and rush through the neighboring areas of life, where the sleeper hears the noise of life instantly, though vague and vague, but still indistinguishable - cold may as well land in a sober place. So, people wake up from sleep, bathed in the dawn, do not know who they are, anyway, no one is, reborn, refreshed, ready to meet everything, the brain poured the past clean, the so-called past is before the life. I'm afraid it's even more wonderful than that. When a forced wake-up landing occurs, our sleeping thoughts are covered by a forgotten cloak, and we don't have time to relive them until sleep stops. We (but we don't even say "we") have experienced this seemingly black storm, and we have become a thoughtless figure: a "we" who may not have content. At this time, how hard is it for the living beings or things here to suffer? They are so dizzy and totally ignorant that they have to wait until the memory of the sprint restores their consciousness or individuality. Moreover, in order to have these two kinds of awake state, we must break the rule of habits and not fall asleep, let alone fall asleep. Because everything used to snare up is monitored; it must get rid of its surveillance, only to feel that they are not sleeping at the time of sleep, in a word, sleep is not protected by foresight, nor need it be accompanied by thinking, even quietly.

These two states of wakefulness I have just described, which I feel quite well in Las Player, when I dine there the night before and wake up the next day, are always in these two states of wakefulness. At least everything seems to have come like this. I can testify that I am a strange man who is looking forward to death's rescue. I saw the shutters closed tightly, I knew nothing about the world, like an owl, still, like an owl, only in the dark can I see a little light. Everything seems to happen like this, but it's likely that only a layer of numbness blocks the sleeper from listening to the internal conversations of memories and the serial nonsense of sleep. Because (of course, in the first system, within a broader, more mysterious, more boundless scope), because just as awakening occurs, the sleeper hears an internal voice and says to him, "Are you coming to this dinner tonight, dear friend?" How happy that should be!" I thought, "Yes, how happy it is, I'll go!" Then, more and more sober-minded, he suddenly remembered: "My grandmother has not lived for a few weeks, the doctor said very definitely." He rang the bell and cried because he thought it would be different from the past. It wasn't his grandmother who came in to answer the question. His dying grandmother was an indifferent servant. What's more, sleep brings him out of the world where memories and thoughts reside. He travels a hundred and eighty thousand miles across space, lonely, unaccompanied, even without his own shadow. He is out of time and his own space of activity. He dared not ask the servant when he was in the house, because he did not know whether he had slept or how many hours he had slept. (He wondered if he had slept for several days, because he was lazy, clear-headed and sentimental, and it seemed that the long journey of eighteen thousand miles was not long.)

It is true that people can insist that there is only one kind of time. The reason is extremely simple. Just look at the clock and you can see at a glance that it actually only lasts a quarter of an hour after a day and a night. But when you see the moment, you are a completely sober person, immersed in the ocean of time of sober people, separated from another time, maybe not just another time, but another life. The pleasures enjoyed in sleep are not recorded in the pleasure account enjoyed in real existence. Let alone the most common sensory pleasures, who of us wakes up without some sort of lost discomfort? In my sleep, I have experienced a kind of joy, which can not be tasted endlessly and repeatedly on that day unless I want to exhaust myself. It's like losing property. People have joy in another kind of life, but this other kind of life does not belong to our life. Dream pain and joy (generally, when awakened, burst into full bloom), if we put it in the budget, it is not in the books of our daily budget.

I have said that there are two kinds of time, perhaps only one in the final analysis, not because the time of the awakened person is valuable to the sleeper, but because another kind of life, that is, the life of the sleeping person - in the part of the sleeping time - does not belong to the category of time. Every time, the next day after the Las Player dinner, I slept soundly, and I imagined another way of life. That's what happened. When I woke up, I found that I had ringed the bell ten times in a row, but had not seen my servant come in. I began to despair. But when the eleventh bell rang, the servant came in. Actually, this is only the first time that the bell rings. The first ten times are just fictitious abdominal scripts in my sleep, because it lasts until the moment I want to ring the bell. It's just that my frozen hands don't move. However, in the early mornings of those days (and that's why I said sleep may not know the rules of time), I tried to wake myself up, and most importantly, I tried to push the uncertain dark sleeping masses I had just experienced into the time frame. It's not easy; sleeping doesn't know whether we're sleeping for two hours or two days, and can't provide us with any orientation markers. If we couldn't find the bearings outside, we would not be able to go back to time. So we slept for another five minutes, but we seemed to think it had been three hours.

I've said long ago that the most effective hypnotic, the talk of experience, is sleepiness. Two hours after falling asleep, fighting with giants in turns and making friends between life and death, it's hard to wake up from sleep, much better than eating lots of barbiturates. I was surprised to learn from the Norwegian philosopher that he heard from his distinguished colleague, I'm sorry, his colleague, Mr. Butler, that Mr. Bergson had his opinion that taking sleeping pills would cause a marked decline in memory. If Norwegian philosophers were to be believed, Mr. Bergson might have said to Mr. Boutru, "Of course, occasional use of a small amount of sleeping pills has no effect on our strong memory of daily life, because it is deeply ingrained in our minds. But there are other memories, more advanced and more unstable. A colleague of mine took an ancient history lesson. He told me that if he took a pill to sleep the night before, it would be difficult to remember the Greek quotation he needed to quote in class. The doctor who prescribed the pill assured him that the pill had no effect on memory. Maybe it's because you don't have to recite the Greek quotation, "the historian said to him, with a sense of self-conceit and ridicule.

I don't know if this conversation between Mr. Bergson and Mr. Butler is correct. Norwegian philosophers, though profound, insightful and dedicated, may well have misunderstood. Personally, my own experience has given me the opposite result.

The moment of forgetfulness on the second day after anesthesia, which is only partially similar to that of a sleepy night full of forgetfulness, has reached the level of falseness and authenticity. However, what I forgot after taking medicine or after falling asleep was not a poem of Baudelaire that disturbed me, such as "like a dulcimer". What I forgot was not some of the opinions of the acclaimed philosopher, but the reality of the ordinary things around me - if I fell asleep - but the reality of the ordinary things around me. Because I don't know anything about the reality around me, people think I'm an idiot; if I wake up and get out of the artificial sleep, I don't forget the system of Pophilli or Protino. I can discuss this kind of Zhezha as I did in the past, but I forget an invitation. Thank you. There was only a blank space for that party. The lofty idea sticks to its position; the thing that sleeping pills make it fail is only the ability of action influence in trivial matters. This ability only manifests itself in that if we want to recover and grasp the memory of something in our daily life in time, we must put it into action. Despite all kinds of arguments about the problem of prolonged asthma after brain failure, I find that every mental exhaustion leads to partial death. We have all our memories, or the ability to recall them. According to Mr. Bergson, the great Norwegian philosopher said so, but I have not tried to imitate the words of philosophers in order to avoid delaying time. Or the ability to recall such memories. But what counts as a memory that cannot be recalled? Otherwise, just go a little further. We can't recall our past 30 years, but we are totally immersed in this kind of memory. Why are we stagnating in the past 30 years? Why don't we extend our past life to the years before birth? Since I can't remember most of the past behind me, since it has become something I can't see, and since I can't call for it, who dares to say to me, in this black hole I don't know, is there no traceable past outside my life? Since there are so many things in my mind and around me that I can't recall, such forgetfulness (at least in fact, because I can't see anything) may involve my life on another person, or even on another planet. The same kind of forgetting wipes out everything. So what does it mean for Norwegian philosophers to swear that the soul is immortal? When I die, this spirit has no ability to recall the person I was born with, just as the person I am now can not recall the things that happened before my birth.

(1) Pophylli (233 or 234-305), an idealist philosopher born in Greece in ancient Rome, a neo-Platonist and a disciple of Protino.

(2) Protino (about 204-270), Greek idealist philosopher in ancient Rome. The most important representative of Neo-Platonism. The main works are Nine Chapters, compiled by Pophylli.

The servant entered the house. I didn't tell him that I rang the bell several times, because I found that until the bell rang, I was just dreaming of ringing the bell. Nevertheless, I shuddered at the thought that the dream was as clear as I felt. Does perception have the corresponding illusion in dreams?

Instead, I asked my servant who was ringing the bell all night. He answered me, "No one is sure. Otherwise, there will be a record on the bell's watch." However, I clearly heard the rings, which were almost impatient, angry, still in my ears, and still vague for several days. It is rare, however, that the memories that disappear with sleep should be turned to the life of awakening. It's like a few meteorites out of the sky. If this is an idea forged by sleep, it will quickly break down into fragments and cannot be retrieved. Where, however, dreams make sounds. This kind of sound is more materialized, simpler and lasts longer.

I was surprised when my servant told me it was too early. I don't have a short rest. This is a light sleep with a long dream, because light sleep is a transitional state between wakefulness and sleep. Although the concept of wakefulness is vague, it will never be forgotten that if we want to get a rest, it is very necessary to spend more time sleeping, and the time of sleeping can be short. There is another reason why I feel comfortable. People feel exhausted when they think of being tired. They just need to say to themselves, "I've had a rest." That's enough to refresh their spirits. Besides, I had a dream that Mr. de Charles was 110 years old, but he slapped his mother, Mrs. Vildiran, two loud slaps in the face because she spent five billion dollars on a bunch of irises; and I was convinced that I slept soundly last night, and that the dream was not like the concept I had when I was awake. It's totally against the possibilities of everyday life *; that's enough to make me feel energetic.

If (on the same day, I ordered Albertina's cap, but did not mention a word to her, so that she was overjoyed and flattered) I told my mother that my mother would be surprised to know who Mr. D. Sharus was coming to dinner with at a salon at the Barbeck Hotel, no matter what. How could I not understand why Mr. de Charles was so hospitable at the Vildiran home? The guest was no one else but a servant of a cousin of the de Campbell family. The deacon, dressed elegantly, crossed the hall with the Baron and "showed the grace of the upper class" in front of the passengers, as Saint Lou would have said if he had seen it. At this time, even the lads in uniform, the nobles who stepped out of the hall and down the steps, had not noticed the two comers, and one of them was Mr. de Charles, who only looked down at them and deliberately showed disdain for them. Look at it. He looks like he's going to pass between them. Win the flag, the precious hope of the sacred nation, "he blurted out, remembering Racine's verse, but the quotation of the verse was quite different from the original meaning." Would you please give me some more advice? The attendant demanded that he knew nothing about classics. Mr. De Charlus disdained to answer. He ignored the questions from his subordinates and went straight ahead as if there were no other customers in the hotel, as if there were only Baron Charlus in the world. He then read out Josabert's verse: "Come here, come here, my girls," but after reading it, he was bored and did not add another sentence like her: "Call them," because these young girls are not yet old and sexually mature enough to please Mr. de Charles.

Besides, the reason why he wrote to Mrs. de Schefflerney's attendant beforehand was that he did not doubt his disposition to listen. He wished he had more masculinity. But when he met, he felt that the man was too tender, which was not in line with his wishes. He told the messenger that he thought he was dealing with another man because he had witnessed another servant of Mrs. de Chevroni's attendant and had indeed seen the man in the car. It was a local fellow who, contrary to the present listener, now thought he was a little bit superior to others. It was this kind of upper-class society that fascinated Mr. De Charles. He could not even understand who the Baron was trying to say. But I don't think any of my associates will get your favor. Except for that scary-looking companion, he looks like a big farmer. The baron's pride was stimulated by the thought that he might be looking at the countryman. The baronet saw his inner activities, and quickly tried them out: "But I did not express a particular desire to know Mrs. de Chevroni's men," he said. Since you are leaving soon, can you introduce more of your partners to me here or in Paris? Either one or the other will do. Oh! No!" The attendant answered, "I don't associate with anyone in my class. I spoke to them only for the sake of waiting. But there's a very nice person, I can recommend you to him. Who?" Asked the baron. Prince Gelmont." Mr. De Charles was angry and only offered him a man of this age for half a day. Besides, he did not need to be introduced by a running servant for the sake of this man. So he declined the recommendation of the listener, and at the same time did not let the dog's legs vanity and spoil his own interest, and began to explain to him what he wanted, kind, kind, such as the pony-groom. He feared that the notary who was approaching at the moment, when he heard what he said, would think himself shrewd and show that what he said was not the same as what others might think. He spoke in an emphatic tone as if he were chatting casually with others, but as if he were just continuing to talk: "Yes, despite my age, I am." Still keeping the hobby of collecting gadgets, like beautiful gadgets, an antique bronze ware, an antique lamp holder, will make me crazy with joy. I love beauty."

However, in order to make the listener understand his intentions of turning the subject quickly, Mr. De Charles emphasized every word. What's more, in order for the notary to hear what he said, every word was shouted out at the top of his voice, so that the whole set of tricks was enough to expose what he had concealed, so that the hearing person could listen to it. Knowing one or two, the judicial officer had no ears at all. The notary did not even notice it, nor did any other customer in the hotel see the flaw. When they saw the attendant dressed well, they thought he was a foreign elegant scholar. But on the other hand, if the upper class were deceived and regarded him as an American celebrity, as long as he appeared in front of his servants, the servants could see him at a glance, just as easily as a convict could recognize another convict, or even smell him before he arrived. It's as easy for a wild animal to be smelled by some wild animals. The leaders raised their eyes. Amy cast a skeptical glance. The beverage manager shrugged his shoulders and put his hand over his mouth to utter a nasty remark, but everyone heard it. He thought it was polite to talk with his mouth covered.

Even our old Franois, who was walking down the stairs to get ready for dinner at the Post Office, looked up and recognized an unsuspecting servant of the hotel guests, just as Old Lady Olecleria had recognized Ulysses long before she entered the guests. Seeing Mr. De Charles walking with the servant in a cordial manner, she was shocked, as if all of a sudden the ugly words she had heard but refused to believe had turned into a sad fact in front of her eyes. She never talked to me about the accident or told anyone else about it, but it must have hurt her nerves, because she was always polite to him when she had the chance to see Julian in Paris, which she had loved so much before, but that courtesy had cooled down, and every time. Increase the dose of Dawei "reserved". The same incident led to another person telling me what he thought; that person was Emmy. When I crossed with Mr. De Charles, who had not expected to meet me unexpectedly, he raised his hand and shouted to me, "Good evening," casually speaking, at least on the surface, like a noble man, who thought he could do whatever he wanted, so he thought it was better to pretend to be open and concealed. Unexpectedly, Amy, he, at this moment, was watching his speech and behavior with suspicion. He saw that I was greeting the fellow servant at the first glance and asked me who he was that night.

Greek mythology. When the hero Ulysses returned to Ita, his mother, Eurekleya, washed her feet for him, saw the scar on his knee, and recognized him at once.

Because Emmy loved to talk to me lately, or, as he said, liked to "talk to me." This may be a philosophical quality of our conversation. I often told him that he could sit down and share dinner with me while I was having dinner, but I was uncomfortable with him standing beside me, claiming that he had never seen such a reasonable customer. At this time he was talking to two boys. They said hello to me, I don't know why; their faces were vivid to me, even though I didn't feel the noise in their conversation. Emmy taught them a lesson about their engagement because he disagreed with their respective marriages. Amy asked me to come out and I said I couldn't come up with any ideas because I didn't know them. They re-named me and reminded me again that they often served me in Riverbell. But one bearded, the other shaved and flattened; for that reason, though they still had their heads on their shoulders in the past (unlike the wrong person's head in the restoration of Notre Dame in Paris), I turned a blind eye, as if they were lying on the fireplace. In the west, no one could find it, even though all eyes were watching. But once I learned their names, I immediately recognized their faint musical voice correctly, because I saw their original face again and knew their voice when I met them. They want to get married, but they don't even know English! " Amy told me that he had no idea that I was not very good at restaurants. It was hard to understand. If I could not speak a foreign language, people would never expect anything good or bad.

As for me, I thought it was easy for him to know that the new diner was Mr. de Charles, and I even thought he should be able to remember him, because last time he served him in the dining room, during my first visit to Barbeck, the Baron came to see Mrs. de Villebarisis, and I introduced his name. However, not only did Emmy not remember Baron de Charles, but she also heard the name touching. He said to me that there was a letter in his clothes, and he could find it the next day. Maybe I could explain it for him. To my particular surprise, in the first year in Balbeck, Mr. de Charles had wanted to send me a Beggot book. He had specifically asked Emmy to help. Later, he should have seen Emme again in the restaurant in Paris. At that time, I was having lunch with St. Lou and his mistress in that restaurant, while Mr. de Charles had lunched in that restaurant. Life went there to spy on our movements. It was true that Amy could not go to work in person, because once he had been lying down and sleeping, and the other time he was on duty. But I have serious doubts about his honesty. He claims that he does not know Mr. de Charles. But he had to cater to the baron. Like the stewards of the Balbeck Hotel, and like many of Prince Gelmont's servants, Amy belongs to a famous family, which is older and more noble than the prince's. When people asked to open a restaurant, they began to think they were alone. But the catering room suddenly found a statuesque handsome foreman, full of Etruscan reddish-brown hair, the same as Emme, but because of excessive champagne and slightly aging, watching the time to drink Kontesseville mineral water. Not all customers just ask them to serve themselves. The young hostesses, one by one, were very cautious and hurried. There were mistresses waiting for them in the city, and each of them stole away. Emmy blamed them for their incompetence. He has this power. As serious as he is, that's what he is. He has a wife and several children, ambitious for his wife and children. If any foreign man or woman approached him voluntarily, he would not refuse the door, even if he had to stay up all night. Because everything starts from work. He was so graceful that he could please Mr. de Charles. Amy told me that he didn't know Mr. de Charles. I suspect he was lying. But I made a mistake. True enough, the boy once told the Baron that Amy had gone to bed (or gone out) and that he was working with his class the next day. But imagination surpasses reality. Despite his sincere apologies, the embarrassment of his dilemma may arouse Mr. de Charles's suspicion, which hurt his feelings, which Amy was unaware of. People also saw that St. Lou did not let Emmy go to the carriage. I did not know how Mr. de Charles found out the new address of the head waiter of the hotel. He was disappointed again in the carriage. Amy didn't notice that, so on the evening of lunch with Saint Luke and his mistress, when he received a letter with the seal of de Gelmont, he was astonished, understandably. Here, I might as well skip a few passages of the fuze as a wise man to a fool of great wisdom. Think of not just a model of acacia." Sir, I have not succeeded. Despite all my efforts, these efforts are likely to shock those who are desperate for my reception and greetings. They are trying to make you listen to the explanation, but you have not made such a request to me, but I think it is necessary to give you my dignity. Give some explanations. So I wrote down here what could have been said in your face. With all due respect, the first time I saw you in Balbeck, I was disgusted by your appearance frankly. Then it aroused the thought of deja vu, which was discovered the next day, that he was very similar to a deceased friend of whom Mr. de Charles had a great deal of friendship." Therefore, I once had the idea that you can play cards with me without interfering with your profession. The pleasure of playing cards can relieve my depression and give my old friend a fantasy. You may have guessed one way or another, no matter how silly the guess is in nature, and for a waiter (who does not even deserve the title, since he is unwilling to serve), it is beyond the scope of his duties to understand such lofty feelings. You may think that you can raise your status. But I don't know who I am and what I do. When I sent you to pick up a book, he told people that you had gone to bed. It would be a mistake to think that you could turn into an elegant gentleman by playing tricks. Besides, you can't find any elegance on your whole body. If it hadn't been for the next morning, and for accidental reasons, I could have spoken to you, I would have broken up with you. You and my poor friend look so amazing that even your unbearable chin-protruding ugliness disappears. I finally understand that it is the beautiful expression that the deceased gives you at this moment that enables you to catch me back in your hand, so that you may not miss your once-in-a-lifetime chance. Good opportunity. Indeed, since all this is no longer the object of pursuit, since this life no longer has the opportunity to meet you, although I do not want to mix in any part of the crude issues of interest, but I may feel very honored, if I can obey the prayers of the deceased (because I believe in the Holy Spirits, believe that they have. It's natural for me to interfere with the wishes of the living, so that I can treat you like he did. At first, he had his own carriage, his own servant, but I spent most of my income on him. Since I loved him like my son. But you have other plans. I want you to bring me a book, but you have someone say you want to go out. This morning, I asked you to come to my car. Please allow me to venture to say something without malice. You will not give me face for the third time. You'll forgive me for not putting high tips in this letter, and I was going to give generously in Balbeck, but I really can't bear to tip someone who once thought I could share the joys and sorrows. At most, when I try for the fourth time in your restaurant, next to you, you will avoid me again and make me waste my time, but my patience must be beyond my reach. So far, Mr. de Charles left his address. Indicate when you can go to him and so on.) Good-bye, sir. I think you are too much like my late friend. Of course you will not be foolish. Otherwise, facial art may be a pseudoscience. I firmly believe that one day, if you think of this accident, you will have regrets and guilt. And in my respect, you may rest assured that I will not harbor any bitterness about it. I'd rather have a bad memory than the third futile activity, and then go our separate ways. The event will soon be forgotten. We are like that big boat, you can see from time to time from Balbeck, they sometimes cross here; it would have been good for everyone if they could stop for a moment and say hello to each other; but one of them took a different stand; so they ran their own way, and soon no one could see anyone on the horizon, Ping Shui. The impression of meeting vanishes; but before this final departure, we must always greet each other, sir, Baron de Charles, here, and wish you good luck.

Before she had finished reading the letter, Amy fell into the fog of five miles and suspected that the writer was making a mystery. When I explained to him who the Baron was, he was thoughtful, as Mr. de Charles had predicted, and regretted. I dare not even bet that he did not write to apologize to the car giver and friend. In the meantime, however, Mr. de Charles met Morrel. But his relationship with this man may at best be nothing more than a Platonic spiritual love, and one evening Mr. de Charles happened to be looking for a partner, just as I had just met him in the hall. But he could no longer divert his intense emotions from Morrel. A few years ago, the emotions were still free and unrestrained. He was intent on pouring himself into Emmy. On the impulse, he wrote the letter happily. When the head waiter showed it to me, I felt embarrassed for Mr. de Charles. As Mr. De Charles's love is an anti-social love, this letter has become a particularly striking example of the unconscious power of passion and impulse, which is like swimmers being drawn into the sea and seeing the mainland at once. Undoubtedly, if a normal man is infatuated with a woman he never knows, and is obsessed with her, dreaming, regretting and disappointing, but never dies to make up a large number of fantasies, then this kind of love is far away from normal people's love, just like a two-legged rule. It's a long distance. In the same way, because of the disparity of status between Mr. de Charles and Amy, a love can not be shared universally into a single love, and the distance which is incompatible with each other is widened.

Every day, I go out with Albertina. She finally decided to rewrite the brush and first chose St. John's Church in La Es, a church no longer enjoyed by many people. Few people knew about it, and few people pointed out the confusion. Without a guide, she could not find it. A lonely church, more than half an hour away from Epville Station, was a long walk. It took a long time to get to the farthest houses in the village of Gzholm, which had been in disrepair for a long time and had already lost their colour. With regard to the place name of Epville, I found that the statement of the Church's Episcopal Doctrine did not correspond to the information provided by Brishaw. One said that Epville was the former Sprvilla; the other pointed out that the name originated from Appvilla. For the first time, we took a small train that ran counter to Federer, that is to say, headed in the direction of Grantwater. It's a terrible time to start right after lunch, just in the hot summer of three volts. I didn't want to go out so early; the bright and hot air awakened my lazy and cool mind. The room was steaming with heat. My mother's room temperature is different from mine because of the different locations in each room. Mother's bathroom is shining in the sunshine, white and dazzling, showing off on all sides of the plaster wall, like a deep well, with square skylights open, only to see one side of the blue sky, like a rippling blue wave, and because of desire, mistake this side of the blue sky as a full pool of clean bathing water (bathing pool may be in front of the platform, also). It may be reflected through a window mirror. In spite of the heat, we took the one-minute train. It was in the carriage that Albertina felt so hot that she couldn't stand walking long distances, but I was worried that she would catch cold because she would stay in that damp, sunless hole after being exposed to the sun and not move. On the other hand, since our first visit to Elstel, I have found that she not only envies luxury, but also covets comfort and comfort, but she does not have enough money to enjoy it. So I made an appointment with a car renter in Barbeck to send a car to pick us up every day. In order to avoid the summer, we went along the Shanterbi Forest. There are countless invisible birds, some may be half-seabirds, hiding in the bushes, singing and chirping around us, giving people the effect of keeping their eyes closed and refreshing. I sat in the back of the car, next to Albertina, her arms around me, and I listened to the ocean goddesses singing heartily. Occasionally, I see a musician jumping from one leaf to another. On the surface, he has no connection with his singing. I can't believe that this wonderful song originally came from the tiny, skipping, humble, frightened and insignificant mouth of a bird. It's impossible for the car to carry us all the way to church. Out of Gertholm, I stopped the car and said goodbye to Albertina. Because when she talked to me about the church and the paintings, she scared me to death. In fact, the church is similar to other places of interest and historic interest. She said, "How happy it would be if I could enjoy it with you!" This pleasure, I feel unable to meet her. For beautiful things, I can only feel their existence when I am alone, lonely or alone. However, since she believed that artistic beauty could only be felt with me, and artistic beauty could not be conveyed in this way, I thought it would be better to be cautious. I said to her that I should go first and come to pick her up in the evening, but also that during this period, I had to go back and forth in a car to visit Mrs. Verdiland or The Campbells, or even my mother in Balbeck for an hour, will never run farther. At least, at first. Because once Albertina came to me with a whim and said, "I hate it. Nature is so badly made that I leave St. John's Chapel in La Es on this side and La Player at that end, so that people have to imprison themselves all day in the place they choose." Once I receive the cap and veil, I will not be for me. Fortunately, the prisoner booked a car in Farrow (Sanctus Ferreolus, according to teachings). At that time, Albertina was in my dark. When she came to see me, she was surprised to hear the noise of a motor in front of the hotel. She was also very happy to hear that the car was for us. I asked her to come into my room for a while. She jumped up with joy. We're going to visit the Vildirans?"" Yes, you'd better not wear this dress, since you're going to have your own car. Hold it. It'll look better on you. I said, pulling out my hidden hat and scarf." Is this for me? Ah! How kind of you! She jumped over and hugged my neck with joy. Emmy met us at the stairway entrance and was proud of Albertina's beautiful clothes and our means of transportation, because the car was a rarity in Balbeck at that time, and he followed us down enthusiastically. Albertina wanted to show off her new look. She asked me to put up the roof, but then let me ask someone to come down so that we could stay together freely. Hello, "said Amy to the driver. He didn't know the driver yet, but he didn't move." Didn't you hear someone tell you to lift the hood? Because Amy was so reckless in Hotel life, besides, he won an outstanding position in the hotel, not as timid as the coachman. In the eyes of the coachman, Franoise became a "lady"; although he had not been introduced beforehand, all the ordinary people who had never met him were matched by "you". People wonder whether it's the contempt of the upper class or the intimacy of the lower Riba. I'm not free, "said the driver, who didn't know me." I'm Miss Simone. I can't bring Mr. Amy burst out laughing. "Look at you, silly hat," he answered the driver, and quickly convinced him, "It's Miss Simone. The man who asked you to raise the hood is your employer." Personally, Emmy didn't have much affection for Albertina. She was proud of her dress only when she looked at me. She only heard him say quietly to the driver, "If you have a chance to drive for such a princess every day, well, that's your creation!" This is the first time that I can no longer go to Las Player alone without worrying about it. I can't take advantage of Albertina's painting as I used to do; she's going with me. She thought we could drive and stop along the road, but she believed that we could not take the road of St. John's Church in La Es first, that is to say, we could not take another direction for a roam, which seemed to have to take another day. However, she learned from the driver that it would be easy to get to St. John's Church in twenty minutes, that we could stay there for several hours if we wanted, and that we could move forward, from Gertholm to Las Player, for no more than thirty-five minutes at most. At last we understood what he said, and the car rushed forward as soon as it started. It was twenty steps away, better than a thousand miles horse. Distance is only a space-time relationship, and it changes with time. When we go to a place, how many ancient fari and how many kilometers are used to measure the distance, it shows how difficult it is. Once the difficulty is reduced, the distance system of ancient fari or kilometers will become inappropriate. The art of expression will also change, such as a village, which is another world for only one village, but as the proportion of the surrounding environment changes, the two villages become neighboring villages. Anyway, if you hear that there may be such a world, where two plus two equals five, where a straight line is not necessarily the shortest way from one point to another, Albertina may not be so surprised, but listen to what the driver says to her. It's easy to go to St. John's Church and La in an afternoon. Sprier, she's so rare and strange. Duville and Gertholm, Old St. Mars and St. Mars, Old Guville and Old Barbeck, Tuville and Ferdinand are just like Messengers and Gelmont in the old days. Until now, they are still confined to different days. No one's eyes can think of two in an afternoon. The scenery of the land is now liberated by the giant Tianzu in seven Fali. A snack in the afternoon is enough to enjoy the bell towers, minarets and ancient gardens of the two places. The trees around the garden can't wait to see the flowers and plants in the garden. Ten Days Talk

When we reached the slope of the Cornish Highway, the car rushed up and roared like a knife. At that moment, the ebb sea was surrounded by me, and the pine trees of Las Player were moved. It was a little more exciting than the evening wind. They came running towards us from all directions, but they dodged before my eyes. A new servant I had never seen before came to the steps to open the door for us. The gardener's son, who had just shown his precocious joy, was staring at the place where the car was parked, wished he couldn't swallow it in at a glance. Go. It wasn't Monday, and we didn't know if we could find Mrs. Vildiran, because it was very rash to meet her off the cuff, except that she received guests on that day. Of course, she is "basically" at home, but this "basically" is a common phrase used by Mrs. Swan. Whenever she tries her best to pull her own circle, whenever she tries to sit at home and attract customers, she uses "basically" to express herself (even if she can't take the initiative because of this). But she often misinterprets this expression as "in principle" and only means "in general", that is to say, there are many exceptions. Because Mrs. Vildiran not only likes to go out, but also often pushes her hostess's duties thousands of miles away. When she has guests for lunch, she has tasted coffee, drinks and smoked cigarettes (although the heat and digestive effects make people drowsy, in this case, it's better to watch Jersey guests through the shade of the platform tree). The scene of the ferry crossing the blue sea) immediately arranged for a series of walks, the guests were invited to sit on the bus, involuntarily pulled to this or that sightseeing spot, such sightseeing spots are everywhere around Duville. In spite of that, the second part of the tour is not entirely a disappointment to the guests. After the delicious food, wine or apple soda, the breeze is blowing, the scenery is pleasant, and it's easy to be intoxicated. Mrs. Vildiran let outsiders visit these scenic spots as if they were visiting her home (far or near) subsidiary real estate. Since everyone came to her home for lunch, it would be difficult not to visit them. In other words, if we did not have a visitor at the nursing home, we would not know them. This attempt to steal the patents for walking is like stealing the patents for Morrel's game and Deschamble's game in the past. This attempt to force the scenery of the sea into her small circle seems unreasonable at first sight. In fact, it is not so absurd. Mrs. Vildiran was not only laughing, but also teasing. According to her, the Campbells were not only bored with La Player's interior furnishings and gardens, but also lacked in innovation when they took a walk nearby or invited others to take a walk. Likewise, in her opinion, Las Player can only be creative from the day it becomes the refuge of a small circle. Likewise, she concludes that the Campbells only know how to ride in their carriage all day long, along the railroad, along the seashore, and on the rough roads that may be unique nearby for a long time. Living in the local area, but do not know the original face of the local. There is some basis for what she said. Back and forth are common occurrences. For a seemingly ruined area, the area is very close and common. The Campbells always go to those places when they go out, and they take those roads. Naturally, they often joke that the Vildirans are good teachers and act as tour guides in front of the old tenants. But if we really force them to lead the way, they, and even their coachmen, really have no ability to take us to the deep scenic spot, and Mr. Vildiran only needs to open a long-abandoned private house fence to guide us into the scenic spot, other people can never imagine that they can come here for enquiry; so they have to get off the bus, because Mr. Vildiran only has to open a long-abandoned private house fence to guide us into the scenic spot. In order to make it impossible for a car to pass by, we can enjoy the beautiful scenery along the way. Nevertheless, it should be admitted that the La Player Garden is just a collection of surrounding scenery, and walking in the garden can be comparable to the Landscape Range of several kilometres. First of all, because it is high, one side can see the canyon, the other side can see the sea, and secondly, because even from one side, such as looking at the sea, green trees open up several channels, in view of the sea and the sky are all the same, the other is all the same. Every tourist spot is equipped with a bench; visitors have to sit down and watch for a while everywhere. Either Balbeck catches their eyes, or Baville is dimly visible, or Duville is far away. Even if you go in one direction, sometimes you can see a bench on the cliff, high or low, or front or back. Looking from above, the first thing you can see is a piece of lush and seemingly no longer open water. However, if you continue to walk along the Yangchang Trail until you reach the next bench, you will find the sea expanding, vast, endless, turbulent sea and tray in front of you. There, visitors can clearly hear the sound of the waves rolling, but in the depths of the garden, on the contrary, the sound of the waves can't come in. Although the waves are still visible, they can't hear them. These resting places are known as "landscapes" for La Player's homeowners. Indeed, around the castle, they gathered the most beautiful "landscapes" of the surrounding areas, rivers and forests. The smaller the vistas, the more obscure they became. Just like Emperor Hadrian, they reduced and simplified the places of interest and incorporated them into their own palaces. According to the term "landscape", the name does not refer specifically to a place on the seashore, but often refers to the scenery across the harbour. Visitors look at the panorama and discover the strange scenery on the other side, leaving a prominent impression. Just as people take a book from Mr. Vildiran's bookshelf and read it for an hour at the Barbeck Landscape, if the weather is clear, people can go to the Riverbell Landscape for a few cool drinks, but it can't get windy, because although trees are planted on both sides, it's fierce. The tuyere.

Hadrian (76-138), the emperor of ancient Rome (117-138 in power).

In the afternoon, Mrs. Vildiran organized a bus tour again. When she returned home, the hostess would pretend to be overjoyed if she found any "seaside passers-by" from the upper class left her business card. She deeply regretted that she had not been able to receive the visit (although the visitors only dropped in to see the "home" so that she could spare time to recognize it one day. Know the woman who ows a famous Art Salon but doesn't always let people in and out of Paris, and ask Mr. Vildiran to invite him to dinner next Wednesday. But tourists often have to leave before Wednesday or worry about going back late. Mrs. Vildiran is the first to say that she can be found every Monday afternoon at the time of snacks. The habit of eating snacks in the afternoon is not very common. I have gorgeous snacks at the homes of Prince Gelmont in Paris, Mrs. de Galiffer or Mrs. De Abachen. But it's not Paris. For me, the elegance of the environment not only affects the elegance of the party, but also the quality of the guests. I have no interest in associating with upstream social figures like this in Paris, but in La Player, when people come here on a long-distance basis to pay for Dainay or wear the Chanterbi Forest, their sex * quality and importance * have changed, and they have become a happy episode. Sometimes, an old acquaintance appeared, and I knew him like the back of my hand; if I were in Swan's house, I would not be bothered to walk around to find him. But the name of this grandfather can be particularly clangorous on this cliff cliff, just like the name of an actor, often heard in a theater. Once printed on the advertisement, the color * is particularly striking, and the introduction is extraordinary. It is so famous that it is amazing because of unexpected opportunities and worth a hundred times. In the countryside, people are unrestrained, and the upper classes often volunteer to take their friends with them at their homes. They say quietly to Mrs. Vildiran, as if apologizing, that when he lives in their homes, he can never leave his friends behind. On the contrary, he pretends to be polite to these guests. They saw this kind of recreational activity in the monotonous beach life, went to a religious center, visited a magnificent building, and had a delicious snack. It is not surprising that a few green trees grow in one corner of the garden, which is common in the countryside, but is particularly beautiful on Gabriel Avenue or Montessor Street, where only millions of wealthy people can enjoy a small garden in downtown Paris. On the other hand, the second-class gentlemen at the Paris evening party, on Monday afternoons, can fully demonstrate their value in Las Player. They had just sat down at a table, covered with an embroidered red tablecloth and several monochrome paintings hanging on the wall between the windows. At that time, they were immediately served a piece of cake, Normandy's crisps, boat-shaped pies, pies filled with red cherries like pearls and agates, and honey known as "diplomats". Pudding ", a window open, facing the blue sea and sky, deep blueprints presented in front of us, you can see, it is impossible to see at the same time, so, these second-class gentlemen shake their bodies, their prices have increased greatly, and become a number of more valuable things. What's more, even before they were seen, when people came to Mrs. Verdiland's house every Monday, even those who were tired of seeing the coaches stopping in front of the luxury hotels in Paris, now saw two or three broken coaches parked under the big fir trees in front of the Las Player Gate. I can't restrain my excitement and feel my heart beating. Perhaps, this is because the rural environment is different, things change from place to place, the tasteless feeling of the upper class society, with the change of time and environment, has become fresh again. Another reason is that to see Mrs. Vildiran in a broken car often evokes fond memories of a trip to the mountains and rivers, and recalls an expensive contract with the coachman, who is "asking for a lot of money" to undertake a one-day contract. However, it is impossible for the new arrivals to know their identities. There is always a little curiosity because everyone is muttering in their hearts, "Who will this be?" It's hard to answer this question. It's not clear who will come to Campbell or live in another house for eight days. Country life is lonely and boring. People like to ask such questions, meet a long-time goodbye or introduce a stranger. It's a boring thing in Paris, but in the countryside it's a boring thing. Otherwise, it disturbs the vacuum of isolated life, fills in a wonderful atmosphere, and even the arrival time of the postman has become a great pleasure. On the very day we arrived in Las Player by car, because it was not Monday, the Vildillans were likely to be torn to death, because the whole village, men and women, young and old, wanted to see the excitement first, and for those who were far away from their relatives and confined in the lonely spa sanatorium, they would like to see through the window. Now. The fast-legged new servant, who had become accustomed to those stereotypes, answered me, "If my wife did not go out, she would probably be on the Duville Landscape." He said, "He would go and have a look." But he immediately told us that she would receive us immediately. When we saw her, her hair was a little messy, because she had just returned from the garden, poultry farm and vegetable garden. She went there to feed her peacocks and hens, pick eggs, pick fruit and pick flowers so as to "pave the way for the dining table", which was like a miniature garden path, but on the table, she was not particular. Do not allow the table to tolerate useful and delicious things; in addition to the ready-made things in the garden, such as pears, snowflakes and eggs, there are also tall Cymbidium thistles, carnations, roses and chrysanthemums, looking through the window through the display branches, as if through a flower pole, but see the ferry shuttle. When they heard of visitors, the Vildirans stopped arranging flowers to welcome them, but it seemed that the visitors were not others, but Albertina and I. It was unexpected. I immediately saw the problem. The new servant, although full of enthusiasm, was not familiar with my name, and gave me the wrong report, Ville. Mrs. Dylan is a good listener. Please come in. Whoever has to see it. The new servant stood at the door and looked at the scene to see what role we played at home. Then he strides away because he was hired the day before. Albertina showed the caps and veils to the Vildirans and gave me a look, which reminded me that we didn't have much time to do what we wanted to do. Mrs. Vildiran left us waiting for the afternoon snack, but we declined, but suddenly she disclosed a plan that almost wiped out all the excitement that I and Albertina had hoped for when they visited the mountains and rivers: the hostess might not be willing to leave us for a new pastime because she was so unhappy. Opportunity, want to go back with us. She has long been used to doing this, volunteering to make such suggestions is disappointing, and she can not be sure that the resolution she volunteered to make will bring us pleasure, so when she made suggestions to us, she pretended to be extremely confident and tried to hide her embarrassment, even did not see what she had thought. She did not ask us directly, but talked to her husband about Albertina and me as if she had treated us favorably once and by the way said, "I'll send them back. It's up to me." At this moment, she has a smile on her lips, which does not belong to her own patent. I have learned this kind of smile on some people. They grinned sly at Bergott and said, "I bought your book, that's what it is." It's a kind of laugh that people laugh and laugh, a kind of uniform common sense, as long as it's the same thing. They need to do this --- as people do with railways and vans --- to emulate other people's faces, with the exception of a few elegant people, such as Mr. Swan and Mr. de Charles, whose lips I have never seen with that kind of smile. From the moment she laughed, my visit was a complete flop. I purposely pretended not to understand what she meant. After a while, it became clear that Mr. Vildiran seemed to join in the excitement." But that's too time-consuming for Mr. Vildiran, "I said." "No," Mrs. Vildiran said to me with pleasure and generosity. "He said that it would be a great pleasure for a man and woman to be familiar with the light cars of the past; if necessary, he could get on the tram, which would not frighten him, and then both of us would come back honestly by train, just like a good couple in harmony. Look, he's beaming with laughter." She seemed to be talking about an affable and well-known old painter, who was even younger than a child and amused his grandchildren by painting strange shapes. To my great annoyance, Albertina seemed not to worry about me, but to be thrilled to be able to drive around the area with the Vildirans. But I had hoped to have fun with her, and I could not wait for it. How could I tolerate the mistress's spoiling our fun? I made up all kinds of lies, and Mrs. Verdiland became angry when she heard them, and her aggressive threats turned my lies into forgivable ones, but Albertina was really angry. Dead person! She's against me." But we're going to visit someone, "I said." Who are you visiting? Asked Albertina. I'll explain to you. It's a must. That's good! We'll just wait for you, "said Mrs. Vildiran, who could yield to any condition. Until the last minute, I was really worried that someone would take away my dream of happiness, so I could not afford to be rude. I flatly refused, sticking to Mrs. Vildiran's ear and excusing that Albertina had something on her mind, she wanted to ask me how I was doing, and I had to be alone with her. The hostess lowered her face and said, "Well, let's not go," she said, her voice trembling with anger. I felt so unhappy that I had to pretend to give in: "But maybe..." No, "she added, adding fuel to the fire." I said no, just No. " I thought I had fallen out with her, but she stood at the door and reminded us not to "give up" the next Wednesday. Don't come here with this thing. It's dangerous at night. Take the train, come with all the people in the circle. The car is already on the garden slope. She arrives. We stopped the car because the servant forgot to put the fruit tower and a bunch of pastries she had ordered to wrap for us. When we got back on the road, we saw small cottages crowded with flowers running face to face to see us off. We feel that this place has become totally different from the impression we have left on every place. The concept of space is far from that supernatural concept. As we have said, the concept of time has greatly broadened the differences among different places. But the concept of time is not unique. In some places, we have always felt that they are lonely and almost isolated from the rest of the world. They are somewhat like the people we know at certain stages of our lives, such as in the army, in our childhood, who have nothing to do with us now. In the first year of Balbeck's sojourn, there was a highland where Mrs. de Villebarisis liked to take us to visit, because from there, we could see that water was not forest, and the highland was called "Beaumont Xiufeng". She chose the road to climb Xiufeng, which was full of ancient trees. She thought it was beautiful, but it was all uphill. Her carriage had to slow down for a long time. Once on the highland, we immediately went down the hill, took a walk, got on the bus, and went back along the old road. We could not see the village before and the castle after. I know that Beaumont is somewhat puzzling. It seems very far and very high. I don't know exactly where it is going, because I have never been to other places by way of Beaumont Xiufeng before. Besides, it takes a long time to get to the highlands by carriage. Obviously it belongs to the same government (or province) as Barbeck, but in my opinion, it is located in a different world and enjoys the privilege of extraterritorial jurisdiction. However, the car was very disrespectful to the mysterious world. Although it passed Ankaville, Ankaville's house was still visible. As we went down to the horizontal coast and went straight to Baville, we came to a dike and saw the sea. I asked what it was. Before the driver could answer, I suddenly recognized Beaumont. Every time I take a small train, I go around Bomun like this. I can't see Xiufeng. In fact, it's only two minutes away from Baville. There was an officer in the Legion I served. I thought he was a special person. His heart was so good and simple that I could not see that he was from a noble family. The distance was so long and mysterious that he was not only a descendant of a famous family, but I knew that he was a monarch. My uncle, or cousin, and I had dinner with this gentleman in the city, similar to the impression left by this officer. Once Bomon was confused with what I thought was a world apart, it suddenly lost its mysterious colour and made its place clear in the local area, which made me afraid to think that if I were there. Outside the closed atmosphere of a novel, I met similar characters of Mrs. Bovary and Mrs. Sansevillina, and I might think they are no different from others. It may be thought that I am keen on wonderful railway travel, so it's hard to share Albertina's thrilling mood when she sees a car. Even if there's a sick man in the car, the patient can drive anywhere he wants, but he's not allowed to --- as I've done so far --- to regard something as a personal sign. It is regarded as a perfect and irreplaceable situation. Undoubtedly, the bus will not set up a terminal here like the railway when I came to Balbeck from Paris. This station is ideal for starting from the trivial daily life. But as an arrival station, which has not been mentioned for a long time, there is no one living in it. It only bears the name of the city. That is, a certain railway station, it seems that the arrival of the station means that it can finally enter the city, because it is likely to be the soul of the city. No, the car is different. It brings us into a city. It's not so magical, because when we get off the train, we first look at the city as a whole. The whole city name is summarized. As the name implies, it contains the fantastic colors of the audience making cars behind closed doors. And cars take us into the streets and alleys, stopping from time to time to ask residents about the situation. However, as a punishment for driving on a familiar road, even the driver was not sure of his own road, so he had to grope for it and even go back. There was a wrong turnout ahead. An ancient castle had a hundred-year-old tree shade, but as we approached it, it finally stood out. It stood beside the mountains and the sea, with a church. Interestingly, the car circles the city one after another, and the city is frightened to flee in all directions. The car finally goes straight into the valley and lies on the valley land when it sees the city. This is a unique place, and the car seems to have uncovered the special express train entrusted to it. The mysterious veil, however, gives the impression that we have found this place by ourselves, made its location clear, and as if it had been measured with a compass, with more precise accuracy*, helped us understand the mystery of real geometry, the beauty of "geodesy".

At this time, I don't know. It was only two years later that I heard that one of the drivers'employers was Mr. De Charles. Morrel was responsible for paying the driver, but he left some money for himself (doubling or even quadrupling the number of kilometers) and got hot with the driver (in public). He pretended not to know him before, and often used his car to run long distances. Had I known about it, and had the trust of the Vildirans and the driver come from it, and they might not have known the truth, then the misery of my second year in Paris and Albertina's misfortune might have been avoided; but I was completely in the dark at the time. Li. Mr. De Charles and Morrel went for a ride in a car, which had no direct interest in me as far as the matter was concerned. What's more, when they go out for sightseeing, they go to the beach for lunch or dinner. Mr. De Charles pretends to be an old bankrupt waiter, while Morrel, who is in charge of accounting, acts like an excellent gentleman. I might as well cite a dinner as an example, so that we can draw analogies from one another. It happened in an oval hotel in St. Mars. Can't you put this away?' Mr. de Charles asked Morrel as if he were talking to an intermediary, so that he did not have to ask the hall directly. His so-called "this" refers to three withered roses, which the head waiter of the hotel kindly placed on the table to decorate the table. Yes..." Morrel said embarrassingly, "You don't like roses?"

"Where can I point out the question just now, it just proves that I like roses, since there are no roses here (Morrel is puzzled), but in fact, I don't like roses very much. I am very sensitive to names; when I see a rose with some beauty, I know her name is Baroness Rothschild. Or Marshal Neil's wife, it's like blowing a chill. Do you like to name? Did you find a beautiful title for your concert ditty? There is a sad poem.

"That's terrible," answered Mr. de Charles, with a sharp voice as loud as a slap in the face. But what I want is champagne? He said to the foreman that the foreman thought the champagne was served, but actually filled two glasses of sparkling wine for two customers, which was not champagne at all. But, sir,..." Take this damn thing away. It won't even touch the worst champagne. It's a nausea drug called'Cup'(mixed wine). Three rotten strawberries are usually soaked in a mixture of vinegar and Seltz mineral water... "Yes," he said, turning to Morrel. "You don't seem to know what the title is, or even, in your most proud show, you don't seem to find the right side of things." You mean?" Morrel asked. He did not understand the baron's conversation at all. He was afraid of losing a useful piece of information. For example, Mr. de Charles was negligent in inviting meals and so on. He didn't say, "You mean?" As a question to be answered, Morrel could not get an answer and thought it was time to change the subject, so he tricked him: "Look, that blonde flower seller, she sells flowers you don't like; another woman who must have a precious girlfriend, the old lady, who eats at the table inside, is sure. Yes."

"But how do you know all about it?" Mr. de Charles asked, admiring Morrel's foresight, "Oh! It only took me a second to see them through. If we were both stumbling in the crowd, you would find that I would not be fooled twice. Anyone who looks at Morrel at this moment and at his masculine beauty with the charming faces of the little ladies will understand that kind of dark-dark guess mentality, rather than pointing him out to some women, is more like those women alluding to him, who are eager to replace Hubien, intentionally or unintentionally intending to tailor from the baron. Income earned in this area will compensate for his "fixed income". Speaking of the little white face, I know the details better. I guarantee you that you will never lose. As soon as we get to the Balbeck Fair, we will find many good things. Then we will have a good time in Paris. You see, you can have a good time. But the slave was so cautious by nature that he had added another meaning to what he had said, that Mr. de Charles thought he was talking about a young girl, "You know," said Morrel, trying to make a great move that would not hurt his elegance, but also excite the baron's senses (though that was the case). Actually it's immoral), "My dream is to find a yellow flower girl, so that I can get her love and her virginity from her." Mr. De Charles could not help pinching Morrel's ear. He added innocently, "What's the use for you? Since you want her virginity, you must marry her. "Marry her?" Morrel cried out, feeling that the Baron had lost his mind, or that the man he was talking to was more serious than he had imagined, "Marry her? Never! I can say yes, but once the little action is quick, I'll throw her away that night. As long as bragging can arouse his temporary pleasure, Mr. De Charles usually has to intervene, even after the rain and clouds have fallen off, to regain all his interest immediately.'Really, you want to do this?' He smiled at Morrel and hugged him tightly. "What's wrong with that?" Morrel, finding that he had not displeased the baron, went on to explain to him frankly what kind of pleasure he really had. "It was dangerous," said Mr. de Charles. "I was ready to go ahead, and then I slipped away without leaving my address." But what about me?" Mr. de Charles asked. I'll show you around, and you can say, "Morrel hurried, not thinking about what the Baron would look like, and not taking the baron to heart at all." Hey, there's a little lady who really likes me. In this direction, she's a little tailor who runs a small shop in Mr. Duke's mansion."

"Hubien's daughter!" The Baron lost his voice and shouted, just as the beverage manager came in, "Yo! "Absolutely not," he went on, either because a third party had appeared to make him cold or even at the Black Mass, he would like to talk about the most sacred things, but he couldn't be hard-hearted to let those who had companionship with him get involved. "Xu Bian is a good man, and the little girl looks very attractive. To inflict pain on them is unbearable." Morrel felt that he had gone too far and kept silent, but his eyes were still fixed on the young girl. He had long hoped that someday I would call him "Dear Great Artist" in front of her. He himself had ordered a vest for her. The little girl was very diligent and had never taken a vacation, but later I learned that when the violinist was in the Balbeck area, she could not keep his appearance in her heart, because when she saw Morrel with me, she regarded him as a "Mr." He had a lot of glory on his face. Don Quixote

"I've never heard Chopin play before," said the baron, "but I could have heard it. I had a lesson with Stamaty, but he didn't let me go to my aunt Himmel's house to listen to Master Nocturne." What a fool he's been doing there!" "Cried Morrel." On the contrary, "Mr. De Charles spoke in a shrill voice, exchanging excitedly." He showed his intelligence. He had long understood that I was a'simple man', and that I was susceptible to Chopin's influence. It's useless because I gave up music when I was young and everything else went down the drain anyway. Later, think about it, "he added, pronouncing Snipes and swallowing them slowly." Somebody's always heard it, someone's always telling you a general idea. But in the final analysis, Chopin is just an excuse to return to the psychic side, and you despise the psychic side.

It will eventually be found that, after the interpolation of vulgar language, Mr. de Charles's words suddenly became as graceful and arrogant as his usual speech. This is because: thinking that Morrel was ready to "throw away" a girl who had been raped, he felt at ease, and he immediately tasted a burst of vivid joy. After the pleasure, his senses temporarily calmed down. At one time, Mr. De Charles was replaced by a sexual abusive madman (he is indeed psychic) who had fled, and let the real Mr. De Charles speak again, only to see that he was full of artist's elegance, full of affection and kindness." Another day, you played the adapted piano piece, Quartet No. 15, which is ridiculous enough, because there is nothing less piano flavor than this. It was specially adapted for such people that the pretentious great deaf man strained his strings too tightly and shocked their ears. However, it is this kind of near-vulgar mysticism that is the sacred work. You played badly anyway and changed all the movements. You play this piece as if it were your own." The young Morrel felt only deafening for a moment, agonizing over himself as a worthless genius, and for a moment he was stunned like a wooden fowl. Later, a sacred fanaticism came to his mind, and he tried and composed the first section of the music. However, he was exhausted and drowned because of the exhaustion of the start of the beat. Down his head, drop a beautiful lock of hair to please Mrs. Vildiran; and then he had to go all the way to buy time and create a considerable amount of gray matter in his brain. He had just squandered a lot of cells to show the courage of the winner of the Delphi Arena; so he regained his vigor and had a quick wit. A new kind of inspiration has come into being, and even Berlin pianist (we think Mr. De Charlus means Mendelssohn) has to assiduously imitate the magnificent and immortal phrase with all his might." It is in this way, in a unique, truly remarkable and vibrant way, that I will let you play in Paris." While Mr. De Charles gave him such advice, Morrel was even more shocked. When he saw the leader take back the cold roses and non-champagne sparkling wine, he wondered what the consequences would be for the "grade". But he had no time to think about it, because Mr. de Charles said excitedly to him, "Ask the foreman if he has a good Christian." Get some'good Christians'? I don't understand. As you know, we are using fruit. It's a kind of pear. Rest assured, there are pears in Mrs. de Campbell's house, because the Countess of Escalbania has had them, and she is the Countess of Escalbania. Mr. Tibbodier sent someone to give her the pear, and she said,'This is a good Christian pear. It's beautiful. No, I don't know. I think you don't know anything, anyway. Have you not even read the play of Moliere? That's all. Since you shouldn't know how to command, let alone the rest, you just need a pear. It's picked nearby, called Louise Maid of Afrancis"..." What?"" Wait a minute. You're too dumb. I have to ask for something else myself. I like it better. Captain, do you have a knowledgeable elder? Charlie, you should have read a touching page about this Pear by Emile de Sherman-Tonell and so on. No, sir, I don't. Do you have the Arc de Triomphe Pear of Duvalier? No, sir."

"Virginia ballet? Pascolma? No, forget it. Since you have nothing, we have to go. Duchess Angullam's not yet ripe; forget it, Charlie, go ahead."

(1) The gray matter of the brain, the cerebral cortex, consists of about 14 billion nerve cells. It is the advanced center of the nervous system and the material basis of the advanced nervous activities.

(2) A kind of honey late pear.

(3) A sweet crisp pear.

Unfortunately, Mr. De Charles, this man is seldom reasonable, perhaps because he may have a chastity relationship with Morrel. From this moment on, he tried every means to fix the violinist's tune, which made the violinist himself bewildered. His human nature is insane, ungrateful and calculating. · Mr. Charles's curious kindness was only rewarded with cruelty and brutality, which made Mr. De Charles - who wanted to be so arrogant at first, but now so low - fall into real disappointment. The following readers will see why Morrel often takes himself as Mr. De Charles, a thousand times stronger than Mr. De Charles, but even trivial matters are merely literary, thus completely misinterpreting the baron's grand theory about the aristocracy. Now, just as Albertina was waiting for me at St. John's Church in La Es, if there was one thing that put her in a noble position (in principle, it was noble, especially from someone who was willing to look for a little girl -- "no trace" with the driver), it was his artistic reputation, and It is conceivable that he is the first violinist. Undoubtedly, he was very ugly, because he thought that Mr. de Charles belonged to him all, but pretended to deny it and mocked him in every way. The way I taught him was exactly the same. I had just promised to keep the secret of what his father did in my grandfather's house, and he immediately stood up and looked down on me. On the other hand, Morrel, his master's artistic name, seems to him to be more advanced than his family name. Mr. de Charles was dreaming of Platonic tenderness, trying to give him the title of his family, but Morrel refused.

The famous sentences in French poet Paul Valery's famous poem The Spirit of the Wind are alluded to.

Albertina felt that it would be wiser to stay at St. John's Church in La Es and paint. Before I got in the car, I could not only go to Gueville, to Ferdinand, but also to Old St. Mars, to Clicteau. I pretended to ignore her, to care about other things, to pretend that there was another new love, had to leave her alone, in fact, I only think of her in my heart. Often, I don't go very far, not more than a horse in Gueville. The Gueville Plain is somewhat similar to the Great Plain over Gombre. In the direction of Mersegris, even though it's quite far from Albertina, I enjoy it, thinking that although I don't have enough eyesight, I can't see it directly. Her beauty, but the strong and gentle sea breeze blew past me, and spread down to Gertholm, unobstructed, blowing the green branches and leaves that covered St. John's Church in La Es, caressing my girlfriend's face, and thus connecting her and me in this vast hiding place, without any hindrance. Any risk is like two children playing games. Nobody can hear anybody's voice or see anybody for a while. They seem to be far away from each other, but their hearts are closely linked. I can see the sea all the way back. On the way, if in the past, the branches blocked the sea, I just shut my eyes and think for a moment. What I want to see is not the old sea ancestor who complained loudly from the earth. She seems to be continuing her unprecedented turbulence in the desert period when life does not exist. Now, for me, this road is only the way to find Albertina; I recognize these roads, so I know where they go straight and where they may turn around. At this time, I remember that I have traveled these roads, and I was thinking of Stemaria. Miss, and I remember, as eager as I am to pick up Albertina now, that when I entered the streets of Paris, I found Miss Stemaria, Mrs. de Gelmont, who often swaggered through the streets of Paris; I see that the road has become monotonous, but has given me the trail of sexuality and character to follow. Spiritual significance. It's natural, but it's not insignificant; the roads remind me that my destiny is just a pursuit of illusion, that a large part of the creatures I dream of are the realities I imagine; that there are indeed some creatures, as I was a child, for whom others can see anything of fixed value. What you can see and touch, what wealth, what merits, what high officials and how rich they are, are all regarded as things outside of themselves; what they need is just a phantom. They spent the rest of their lives trying to meet the phantom at all costs. But the phantom is fleeting; so he pursues another phantom, even if he goes back to pursue the first one again. It's not the first time I've sought Albertina. The first year I saw her at the beach. Other women, to be honest, are just the episodes between Albertina, my first love, and Albertina, who I am inseparable from at this moment; other women, especially the Duchess of Gelmont. But somebody wants to say, why do we have to think about Hilbert and make up our minds for Mrs. de Gelmont? If we want to be Mrs. de Gelmont's friend, the only purpose is not to think about her anymore, but do we want Albertina? Swan, before he dies, may be able to answer this question. He was an ardent pursuer of illusion. Phantom is in all shapes and colors, pursued by people, forgotten by people, searched for again, and sometimes only asked for a meeting. The purpose is to contact a kind of unrealistic life. This kind of unrealistic life is fleeting, and all the paths of Balbeck are filled with ghosts and ghosts. When I think of the trees along the road, pear trees, apple trees and tamarisk trees, they are still alive after my death. It seems that I have learned from them and put my energies into work before the time of long sleep and rest sounds.