Madame Bovary - Penn State University

Madame Bovaryand I never catch cold; my carcass is good enough! I live now fireless chimney, his chin on his breast, his hands clasped, hisin one way, now in another, like a philosopher, taking potluck;that is why I am not squeamish like you, and it is as Perhaps, after all, he had made some slip. He thought it over,eyes staring. “What a mishap!” he thought, “what a mishap!”indifferent to me to carve a Christian as the first fowl that but could hit upon nothing. But the most famous surgeonsturns up. Then, perhaps, you will say, habit! habit!” also made mistakes; and that is what no one would ever believe!People, on the contrary, would laugh, jeer! It wouldThen, without any consideration for Hippolyte, who wassweating with agony between his sheets, these gentlemen enteredinto a conversation, in which the druggist compared the Who could say if his colleagues would not write against him.spread as far as Forges, as Neufchatel, as Rouen, everywhere!coolness of a surgeon to that of a general; and this comparisonwas pleasing to Canivet, who launched out on the exipers.Hippolyte might even prosecute him. He saw himselfPolemics would ensue; he would have to answer in the pagenciesof his art. He looked upon, it as a sacred office, althoughthe ordinary practitioners dishonoured it. At last, com-world of hypotheses, tossed amongst them like an empty caskdishonoured, ruined, lost; and his imagination, assailed by aing back to the patient, he examined the bandages brought by borne by the sea and floating upon the waves.Homais, the same that had appeared for the club-foot, and Emma, opposite, watched him; she did not share his humiliation;she felt another—that of having supposed such aasked for someone to hold the limb for him. Lestiboudoiswas sent for, and Monsieur Canivet having turned up his man was worth anything. As if twenty times already she hadsleeves, passed into the billiard-room, while the druggist stayed not sufficiently perceived his mediocrity.with Artemise and the landlady, both whiter than their aprons, Charles was walking up and down the room; his bootsand with ears strained towards the door.creaked on the floor.Bovary during this time did not dare to stir from his house. “Sit down,” she said; “you fidget me.”He kept downstairs in the sitting-room by the side of the He sat down again.158