Be calm; compose yourself.
Under her window there was a beehive, and sometimes the bees wheeling round in the light struck against her window like rebounding balls of gold
“Here it is,” she said placing fourteen napoleons in his hand.
The spelling mistakes were interwoven one with the other,
Rodolphe with Madame Bovary was talking dreams, presentiments, magnetism.
“Besides,” added Rodolphe, “perhaps from the world’s point of view they are right.”
“Oh, you are slandering yourself,” said Emma.
may I be permitted, I say, to pay a tribute to the higher administration, to the government to the monarch, gentle men, our sovereign, to that beloved king
He hasn’t much taste. Poor Tuvache! and he is even completely destitute of what is called the genius of art.
“Halt!” shouted the colonel. “Left about, march.”
