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This was really worse than St. Sebastian's. It reminds one of a French gayety in Thiebault or some such author, who describes a rustic party, under equal despair, as employing themselves in conjugating the verb s'ennuyer, Je m'ennuie, tu t'ennuies, il s'ennuit; nous nous ennuyons, &c.; thence to the imperfect Je m'ennuyois, tu t'ennuyois, &c.; thence to the imperative Qu'il s'ennuye, &c.; and so on through the whole melancholy conjugation.
This was really worse than St. Sebastian's. It reminds one of a French gayety in Thiebault or some such author, who describes a rustic party, under equal despair, as employing themselves in conjugating the verb s'ennuyer, Je m'ennuie, tu t'ennuies, il s'ennuit; nous nous ennuyons, &c.; thence to the imperfect Je m'ennuyois, tu t'ennuyois, &c.; thence to the imperative Qu'il s'ennuye, &c.; and so on through the whole melancholy conjugation.
Albert wondered as he went up to town. Was she passing through a crisis of some sort? Was she only just beginning to realise that she was his wife? He spent the whole day in town. In the evening he went to the theatre. They played Le monde ou l'on s'ennuit.
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