For a long time, my father had thought it impossible for us to visit Mrs and Miss Swan because I had no idea of social status, and I imagined that they were too far away from us, which added to their prestige in my mind. I regretted that my mother did not dye her hair and put on her lipstick like Madame Swan, for I had heard from our neighbor, Madame Salazar, that Madame Swan did not do so to please her husband, but to please Monsieur de Charluse; I thought at the time that we must be vulgar things in her eyes; Most of the reason why I think so is that I have heard that Miss Swan is a very beautiful girl. I often dream of her, and every time I imagine her to be both arrogant, self-willed and euphemistic. It was not until that day that I learned that her position was so rare, that she was accustomed to so many privileges, and that when she asked her parents who was coming to dinner, the answer she received was the sonorous and glittering name of such a noble guest, Bergot! A guest like that is just an old family friend to her. All I could hear at the dinner table was my great-aunt's talk, and the corresponding intimate conversation, for her, was Baggott's talk about all kinds of problems that were not discussed in her book. I wish I could listen to his advice! Finally, whenever she wanted to visit an ancient city, Bergot always accompanied Miss Swan like an immortal who came down to earth with great honor, although the layman did not know him. Then I felt how vulgar and ignorant I was compared with her,industrial racking systems, and how valuable it was for her to live like that. I felt so strongly how beautiful it would be to be her friend, and how impossible it was for me, that I was filled with both hope and despair. When I think of her now, I often see her standing in front of the church, explaining the meaning of the statue to me, and introducing me to Bagot as her friend with a smile of praise. All the beautiful thoughts which the cathedrals of all lands had evoked in my breast, and the rolling hills of the Ile-de-France,heavy duty cantilever racks, and the enchanting landscape of the open plains of Normandy, were reflected in their own beautiful manner in the image I had conceived of Mademoiselle Swan: I really wanted nothing more than to love her. In order to produce love, there must be many conditions, the most essential and least troublesome of which is to believe that love can make us enter a strange life and become part of it. Even a woman who claims to judge people by their appearance can find a special breath of life in the man she sees. So they love soldiers and firemen, because their uniforms make their appearance more amiable; women think they can kiss a different, adventurous, chivalrous heart under the armor; A young monarch, a young crown prince, does not need to have good looks, but he can win the most enviable pleasure in the country he visits, and for an ordinary veteran of love, good features may be a necessary condition. I read in the garden on Sundays, which my great-aunt could not understand. On that day, the seven days of the week, wire mesh decking ,industrial racking systems, she was not allowed to do any regular work, so she did not do any sewing. (Normally, she would say to me: "Why, you are reading for pleasure again, and today is not Sunday." She added the words "childish" and "waste of time" to the word "pleasure".). On the day I was reading, my aunt Leonie was chatting with Francoise and waiting for Eulalie to come to visit. My aunt told Franoise that she had just seen Madame Goubier pass by, "without an umbrella, and in the silk dress she used to make at Chateautein.". If she has a long way to go before dusk, I'm afraid her skirt will be caught in the rain. "Maybe, maybe," said Francoise, so as not to categorically rule out the possibility of better weather. You see, "said my aunt, patting her head," that reminds me: I haven't found out if she came to church after communion. I'll have to ask O'Leary later.. Françoise, look: the dark cloud behind the clock tower, the strange sunshine on the tiles, it must rain before dark, it can't go on like this, the weather is too hot. "The sooner it rains, the better, for as long as the storm does not come, the Vichy water I drink will be in my chest and difficult to digest," my aunt finally added; on the whole, her eagerness to digest the Vichy water soon was much greater than her fear of getting Madame Goubir's skirt wet. Maybe, maybe. You know, if it rains in the square, there is no place to hide. Why, it's three o'clock? My aunt turned pale and suddenly cried out, "So I forgot to take the protease when the evening prayer began!"! Now I understand that no wonder Vichy's holy water is stuck in my chest. With these words, she rushed to seize a purple velvet bound, gilt incised prayer book, and hurriedly dropped some bookmarks with yellowed paper lace, which had been inserted in the pages marking the festival prayers. As she swallowed the protease, my aunt began to recite the scriptures as fast as she could. She was somewhat confused about its meaning, because she was not sure whether the protease could catch up with the medicine and make the holy water digest early after taking the Vichy holy water for so long. It's three o'clock. How time flies! It's incredible! It was as if something had touched the window, and then it was as if someone had thrown a handful of sand from the upstairs window, and it fell down, and then the sound of the falling spread out, and it was so regular that it turned into the sound of water, which gurgled like music, scattered into countless dots, and covered everywhere: It's raining. Look! Francoise, what did I say? Down! I feel as if the garden bell is ringing. Go and see who can come at such a time. Franoise came back and said: "It was Mrs. Amedey (my grandmother) who rang the doorbell. She said she was going out for a walk. It was raining heavily." "I'm not surprised,mobile racking systems," said my aunt, rolling up her eyes. "I've always said that her spirit is different from everyone else's. At a time like this, I wish I was running out instead of her. 。 jracking.com