Her eyes growing accustomed to the darkness, she recognized the farm at the road's turning where some low buildings looked like sleeping animals. It was here that Anne [a childhood friend], in other days, feared a dog that always ran up and threw itself against her bicycle. Farther on, a stand of alders concealed a dip in the ground; in this spot, on the hottest days, a fleeting coolness would fan the girls' overheated faces. A child on a bicycle, teeth shining beneath a sunshade hat, the bicycle's bell sounding, a voice calling out, "Look! No hands!" This confused image took hold of Therese, the only thing she could find from those long-gone days that gave her exhausted heart a little refuge.
- Francois Mauriac
Therese Desqueyroux
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| Flickr (cc) Photo by Luca Boldrini |