Page 92 - madame-bovary

dust and the silver bordered satin ribbons frayed at the edg-
es. She threw it into the fire. It flared up more quickly than
dry straw. Then it was, like a red bush in the cinders, slowly
devoured. She watched it burn.
The little pasteboard berries burst, the wire twisted, the
gold lace melted; and the shriveled paper corollas, fluttering
like black butterflies at the back of the stove, at least flew up
the chimney.
When they left Tostes at the month of March, Madame
Bovary was pregnant.

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