She [Lucile] pictured her husband, a heavy, bored man, interested only in money, land and local politics. She had never loved him; she had married him because her father wished it. Born and brought up in the countryside, she had little experience of the outside world, with the exception of a few brief trips to Paris to visit an elderly relative. Life in the provinces of central France is affluent and primitive; everyone keeps to himself, rules over his own domain, reaps his own wheat and counts his own money. Leisure time is filled with great feasts and hunting parties...
She had got married; she had been a cold, docile wife. Gaston Angellier was only twenty-five when they married, but he had that kind of precocious maturity brought about by a sedentary provincial lifestyle, excellent rich food eaten in abundance, too much wine, and the complete absence of any strong emotions. Only a truly deceptive man can affect the habits and thoughts of an adult while the warm, rich blood of youth still runs in his veins.
That is from Irene Nemirovsky's Suite Francaise, previously discussed on this blog. I'l put one more bit under the fold...
They were alone — they felt they were alone — in the great sleeping house. Not a word of their true feelings was spoken; they didn’t kiss. There was simply silence. Silence followed by feverish, passionate conversation about their own countries, their families, music, books…They felt a strange happiness, an urgent need to reveal their hearts to each other — the urgency of lovers, which is already a gift, the very first one, the gift of the soul before the body surrenders "Know me, look at me. This is who I am. This is how I have lived, this is what I have loved. And you? What about you my darling?" But up until now, not a single word of love. What was the point?
And no, I am not going to tell you what happens…
So, in other words, you felt drawn to this because of the parallels to your own love life?
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