The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. Time was moving so fast, she could no longer count the days since Gosse had come to her with his preposterous suggestion at the Coq d’Or, where they were staying and where he had robbed her and left her and Martha to their fate. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated.
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