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When he entered, the manikin was lying on its side, and the muscles of the face, having been loosened, caused a monstrous protrusion, and looked frightful. "What brings you here?" said Pécuchet. Foureau stammered: "Nothing, nothing at all." And, taking up one of the pieces from the table, "What is this?" "The buccinator," replied Bouvard.
His trousers, with big flaps, which creased at the end over beaver shoes, took the shape of his stomach, and made his shirt bulge out at the waist; and his fair hair, which of its own accord grew in tiny curls, gave him a somewhat childish look. He kept whistling continually with the tips of his lips. Bouvard was struck by the serious air of Pécuchet.
His patient was on the point of eating, with two pillows behind his back, between his wife and Pécuchet, who were sustaining him. He drew near the bed, and flung the plate out through the window, exclaiming: "This is a veritable murder!" "Why?" "You perforate the intestine, since typhoid fever is an alteration of its follicular membrane." "Not always!"
She was calling out: "Gorju! Gorju!" And from the corn-loft the voice of their little servant-maid answered loudly: "He is not there!" At the end of five minutes she came down, with her cheeks flushed and looking excited. Bouvard and Pécuchet reprimanded her for having been so slow. She unfastened their gaiters without a murmur. Then they went to look at the chest.
And they went on with their work, Bouvard on the tips of his toes, trapping with his mattock, Pécuchet, with his back bent, digging with his pick. But the custom-house officer reappeared farther down, in an open space between the rocks, making repeated signals. They treated him with contempt. An oval body bulged out under the thinned soil, and sloped down, was on the point of slipping.
As to its being indivisible, neither the perfume of a rose nor the appetite of a wolf, any more than a volition or an affirmation, is cut in two." "That makes no difference," said Pécuchet. "The soul is exempt from the qualities of matter." "Do you admit weight?" returned Bouvard. "Now, if matter can fall, it can in the same way think.
Eventually, they thought the best thing they could do was to apply a steel magnet to his spinal marrow. Bouvard, repressing his emotion, handed some needles on a plate to Pécuchet, who fixed them against the vertebræ. They broke, slipped, and fell on the ground. He took others, and quickly applied them at random.
Pécuchet had preached at Bouvard; they were on the point of giving way. Gouy asked for a reduction of rent; and when the others protested, he began to bellow rather than speak, invoking the name of God, enumerating his labours, and extolling his merits. When they called on him to state his terms, he hung down his head instead of answering.
"Lunacy, chloroform, a bleeding will overthrow it; and, inasmuch as it is not always thinking, it is not a substance which does nothing but think." "Nevertheless," rejoined Pécuchet, "I have in myself something superior to my body, which sometimes confutes it." "A being in a being homo duplex! Look here, now! Different tendencies disclose opposite motives. That's all!"
"The papers will fly away!" cried Pécuchet, who was more afraid of the currents of air. However, he panted for breath in this little room, heated since morning by the slates of the roof. Bouvard said to him: "If I were in your place, I would remove my flannel." "What!" And Pécuchet cast down his head, frightened at the idea of no longer having his healthful flannel waistcoat.
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