I should go fast home. This rain is going to kill me!
Was she really your mistress?
Oh. I can't believe she died
"I am going to tell you our story, for love only has one, which is always the same. I met her and loved her; that is all. And for a whole year I have lived on her tenderness, on her caresses, in her arms, in her dresses, on her words,
Happy is the man whose heart forgets everything that it has contained, everything that has passed before it, everything that has looked at itself in it, or has been reflected in its affection, in its love!
She came home wet one day. Next day she she coughed, and she coughed for about a week, and took to her bed. Doctors came, wrote, and went away. Medicines were brought but hands were hot, her forehead was burning, and her eyes bright and sad
'Here reposes Jacques Olivant, who died at the age of fifty-one. He hastened his father's death by his unkindness, as he wished to inherit his fortune, he tortured his wife, tormented his children, deceived his neighbors, robbed everyone he could, and died wretched
She died!! The priest insulted her with that question. As she was dead, nobody had the right to say that any longer, and I turned him out.
"'Having gone out in the rain one day, in order to deceive her lover, she caught cold and died
Yesterday I returned to Paris, and when I saw our room, our bed, our furniture, everything that remains of the life of a human being after death I could not remain any longer among these things, between these walls which had enclosed and sheltered her.
I went to the cemetery and I decided to lay on her grave to be close to her. I hid in the back and when I was alone I went to look for her grave but I found a dead man writing his true on his tombstoneClick to Edit Description
I run faster to find her grave and when I read her true I was found lying on the grave unconscious."