In search of lost time.Marcel Proust -Swann's Way- (Videobooks) Page 7

In search of lost time.Marcel Proust -Swann's Way- (Videobooks) Page 7 As I went to sleep, I consoled myself with the thought that after I lay down my mother would come to kiss me. But she came to say goodbye to me so briefly and left so soon that my soul resounded painfully, first her steps on the stairs, and then the light rustle of her summer blue muslin dress trimmed with straw, floating behind two doors along the corridor. The rustling and footsteps announced that I would hear them again when she left me, when she went down the stairs. I already preferred that this parting of ours, which I loved so much, happened as late as possible, so that my mother would not come for a longer time. Sometimes, when she, having kissed me, was already opening the door, I wanted to call her and say: “Kiss me again,” but I knew that she would be angry because the concession she made to my sadness and my arousal by coming to kiss me, giving me a soothing kiss, irritated my father, who thought this ritual was ridiculous, and she sought to give up this need, this habit, and, in any case, I did not intend to encourage another habit - to ask her to kiss me again at the moment when she was about to step over the threshold. In a word, her angry look violated the peace that she blew over me a second before she lovingly leaned over my bed and, as if holding out the holy gifts of peace to me, reached out to face me so that, having communion, I would feel her presence. and got the strength to sleep. And yet those evenings when my mother came to me for a minute were happy in comparison with those when guests were expected for dinner and she did not rise to me. Usually only Swan visited us; apart from the occasional visitor, he was almost the only visitor to Combray, sometimes coming as a neighbor for supper (which happened less frequently after his unsuccessful marriage, as my relatives did not receive his wife), and sometimes after dinner, by chance. When we sat in the evening near the house under a tall chestnut tree around an iron table, and from that end of the garden the low and shrill ringing of a bell reached us, with its silent, inanimate rattle, dousing and deafening the household, setting it in motion, entering "without a call", but twice, the timid, rounded, golden ringing of a bell for strangers, everyone asked themselves the question: "Guests! Who could it be?" — although it was no mystery to anyone that it could only be Swann: my great-aunt, wanting to set an example for us, spoke loudly in a possibly more casual tone so that we would stop whispering, because this is extremely impolite towards a guest who might to think that we were whispering about him, and grandmother was sent to reconnaissance, rejoicing at the excuse to once again walk through the garden and use it, so that along the way, to make the rose bushes more natural, quietly remove the props from under them, just like a mother fluffs her son's hair , which the hairdresser licked. We racked our brains in anticipation of the news of the enemy that grandmother was supposed to deliver, as if whole hordes could attack us, but a little later grandfather said: “I recognize the voice of Swann.” Svan was really recognized only by his voice; his hooked nose, green eyes, high forehead, blond, almost red hair, combed like Bressan - it was all difficult to see, since we were sitting in the poor light so as not to attract midges, and here I, without hesitation, I went to tell them to serve syrups: Archimed Production Studio produces high-quality feature films, documentaries and animation films and 360-degree panoramic animation. Winner of five international film festivals. We invite to cooperation of independent producers, distributors, investors . If you have any questions, please write to the e-mail: transfert@mail.ru The animation of all the characters in real time 3d