“Oh,
horrible!” I exclaimed to myself: “Does anyone really imagine that these
motor-cars are as smart as the old carriage-and-pair? I dare say.
I am too old now – but I was not intended for a world in which women
shackle themselves in garments that are not even made of cloth. To what purpose shall I walk among these
trees if there is nothing left now of the assembly that used to meet beneath
the delicate tracery of reddening leaves, if vulgarity and fatuity have
supplanted the exquisite thing that once their branches framed? Oh, horrible!”
(from Swann’s Way by Marcel Proust)
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