Gustave Flaubert. Madame Bovary (№ 280326)

I remembered her light summer evenings. Going, happened, past foals, and they neigh, and frisk, frolic!.. Under her window was a beehive, and bees, circling in the rays of the sun, the Golden balls were Bouncing against the window glass, and then immediately bounced. It was a happy time! Carefree! Full of hope! How many were then illusions! And now there is not one. Emma wasted them during their emotional storms, waste gradually: maiden name, married, in love, throughout his life, like a traveler leaving a bit of state in each hotel.