The couple fell one atop of the other, struck down, finding consolation, at last, in death.
The stench of the manure that Jean was turning had cheered him up a little. He adored its promise of fertility and was sniffing it with the relish of a man smelling a randy woman.
He knew that, from now on, every day would be alike, that they would all bring the same sufferings. And he saw the weeks, the months, the years that awaited him, gloomy and implacable, coming one after the other, falling on him and suffocating him bit by bit. When the future is without hope, the present takes on a vile, bitter taste.
She wanted to live, and live fully, and to give life, she who loved life! What was the good of existing, if you couldn't give yourself?
O Almighty God, O Divinity, Helpful Power, whoever, whatever Thou mayst be, take pity upon poor mankind and make human suffering cease! All.
If I cannot overwhelm with my quality, I will overwhelm with my quantity.