Votre compte

The Captive


At daybreak, my face still turned to the wall, and before I had seen above the big inner curtains what tone the first streaks of light assumed, I could already tell what sort of day it was. The first sounds from the street had told me, according to whether they came to my ears dulled and distorted by the moisture of the atmosphere or quivering like arrows in the resonant and empty area of a spacious, crisply frozen, pure morning; as soon as I heard the rumble of the first tramcar, I could tell whether it was sodden with rain or setting forth into the blue. And perhaps these sounds had themselves been forestalled by some swifter and more pervasive emanation which, stealing into my slumber, diffused in it a melancholy that seemed to presage snow, or gave utterance (through the lips of a little person who occasionally reappeared there) to so many hymns to the glory of the sun that, having first of all begun to smile in my sleep, having prepared my eyes, behind their shut lids, to be dazzled, I awoke finally amid deafening strains of music.

Ce livre est classé dans les catégories :

2,99 €
?

Ebook protégé par filigrane

L’éditeur de ce livre a choisi de protéger ce fichier par filigrane (ou watermarking). Ce filigrane permet de relier le fichier à son propriétaire via l’apposition d’un filigrane visible ou invisible sur le fichier.

Vérifier la compatibilité de vos supports

Vous aimerez aussi

Fiche détaillée de “The Captive”

Fiche technique

  • Auteur : Marcel Proust
  • Éditeur : Books on Demand
  • Date de parution : 22/05/19
  • EAN : 9783749456086
  • Format : ePub
  • Nombre de pages: 653
  • Protection : Digital Watermarking

Résumé

At daybreak, my face still turned to the wall, and before I had seen above the big inner curtains what tone the first streaks of light assumed, I could already tell what sort of day it was. The first sounds from the street had told me, according to whether they came to my ears dulled and distorted by the moisture of the atmosphere or quivering like arrows in the resonant and empty area of a spacious, crisply frozen, pure morning; as soon as I heard the rumble of the first tramcar, I could tell whether it was sodden with rain or setting forth into the blue. And perhaps these sounds had themselves been forestalled by some swifter and more pervasive emanation which, stealing into my slumber, diffused in it a melancholy that seemed to presage snow, or gave utterance (through the lips of a little person who occasionally reappeared there) to so many hymns to the glory of the sun that, having first of all begun to smile in my sleep, having prepared my eyes, behind their shut lids, to be dazzled, I awoke finally amid deafening strains of music.

Biographie de Marcel Proust

Avis des internautes


Aucun commentaire n'a été posté sur ce livre.

Ajouter votre commentaire