The large mirrors of the wardrobe and overmantel were filling with vague lights and shadows.

She took off her fur coat, went to look out of the window between the curtains and said: "Robert, the steps are wet." He answered that there was no flight of steps, only the pavement and the road, and then another pavement and the railings of the square.
"You are a Parisian, you know this square well.

In the centre, among the trees, there is a monumental fountain, with enormous women whose breasts are not as pretty as yours." In his impatience he helped her to undo her cloth frock; but he could not find the hooks, and scratched himself with the pins.
"I am clumsy," he said.
She retorted laughingly: "You are certainly not so clever as Madame Michon! It's not so much clumsiness, but you are afraid of getting pricked.

Men are a cowardly race.

As for women, they have to accustom themselves to suffer.