While the storm was erupting, she stayed, staring at it, watching the shafts of lightning, like someone who could see serious things, far away in the… - Émile Zola

Death and the sowing of seeds: and the life of bread growing up out of the earth.

She would have cursed the Almighty had she been able to shout out a blasphemy. Providence had deceived her for over sixty years, by treating her as a gentle, good little girl, by amusing her with lying representations of tranquil joy. And she had remained a child, senselessly believing in a thousand silly things, and unable to see life as it really is, dragging along in the sanguinary filth of passions. Providence was bad; it should have told her the truth before, or have allowed her to continue in her innocence and blindness. Now, it only remained for her to die, denying love, denying friendship, denying devotedness. Nothing existed but murder and lust.

The train ran on without a driver, on and on, like some mindless, unseeing beast...