Literary Master 1879: Traveling Alone in France

The essence of this book is not the "revolution" that the readers hope for, which the protagonist Lionel Sorel did not do. Think about it, if a literary giant or a well-known writer mixes revolution indiscriminately to satisfy the readers' simple or even meaningless "struggle ideals", then the readers will be no different from the angry Paris people at that time. Leon leading a revolution to pursue a main line is not in line with the character arc and plot motivation. As a writer in Paris, he did things befitting a writer, invested in criticism and wrote what he wanted to write, which is in line with the development required by a "writer". Following Leon's pace, we are actually watching a "social manifestation" at the end of the 19th century. People such as Zola, Maupassant, Turgenev and even all kinds of little people in the East End of London follow Leon's activities. A rich social picture slowly unfolds, and it is seen that Leon has gone through a lot in the current chapter, and has witnessed a lot in just a few years. These characters, whether beautiful or ugly, high or low, all vividly appeared in the 19th century world. A novel without a main line or main task is not to be condemned or even criticized. The dialogues and speculations between Leon and famous writers in this book, and the various social situations witnessed can arouse readers' thinking and bring interest in certain masterpieces, then it is already perfect. That society was lively and chaotic, and the waves may not have stirred up anything. The important thing is that it was there and it happened.

To be honest, since junior high school, I have mostly read pirated copies. I don't have much money, and I am still reading. But this book is really good. I have ordered it all now. Come on, the author, the writing is so good. It is a rare kind of literary masterpiece that pretends to be fresh and refined without being embarrassing. It is also very refreshing to understand a little knowledge.

The author has written very well so far, please keep it up. I also suggest that if there is an emotional drama later, it is best to mention it in one go. If you don't like to watch emotional drama, you just like to watch the protagonist doing his career. Come on, keep it up.

The author hurry up and update. I am chasing you every day. You still dare to rest after I owe you so much. I really want to be real to you offline.

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Hello, I had a hard time reaching you because I couldn't log into any social networks. Fortunately, a helpful person on Reddit ended up helping me out :) Anyway, I wanted to tell you that I really enjoyed your novel about French literature in 1879. I happened to be in Paris recently, so it was really interesting to see the city from a completely different perspective and to have a "conversation" with the people who have left their mark on Paris. I didn't check your historical accuracy because without your novels, I probably wouldn't read history books at all. Now, I have a deeper understanding of the era depicted in the novel. I'm not usually a big fan of historical novels, but I have to say, considering my "lack" of the genre, your work is now my favorite historical novel. As a writer, I sincerely hope that you can always make a living from writing and get satisfaction from it. Thank you for creating such a wonderful novel. Reddit: HierKommtdieSonne902 Royalroad: Bor902

Generally speaking, it is a good work, but the promotion of the protagonist's status is not matched by the many works he has written. It stands to reason that the protagonist has written so many works and is famous in Europe, which can be said to have a certain status. However, in the eyes of the villain, the protagonist has become a little Karami, and he can do whatever he wants. This is very contradictory. In the recent plot, the author just made a small fuss about colonialism and was made to run away in a panic. Logically speaking, in my superficial impression, in that era, there were many writers who were big trolls in the West, and I didn't expect the protagonist to be in such a mess. Even in a tsarist dictatorship like Russia, even if some radical socialist activists were preparing to assassinate the tsar and launch an uprising, the tsar would not hesitate to show his mercy. For example, Petrashevsky was first sentenced to death, and Nicholas I was sentenced to life-long hard labor. After a few years, the tsar was changed, and he was pardoned and returned to Russia. Compare it. The protagonist is in France, an old revolutionary area with liberal democracy and civilization. He only made a small fuss about colonialism and was turned into this. It is really puzzling.

When the fireworks in the fireplace at 221B Baker Street swayed in the London fog, cafes all over Paris were boiling for the same soul - Sherlock Holmes, this wise man wrapped in an English coat, with French blood clearly flowing in his bones. We must say it bluntly: this detective never belonged to the Fog City, and he deserves to return to the banks of the Seine where romance and rationality are intertwined. First of all, we must clarify a truth that has been blurred by time: the inspiration for shaping Sherlock Holmes was originally rooted in French soil. Lionel's idea of ​​​​writing detective novels should come from his admiration for the French writer Emile Gaborio. It was Gaborio who let the detective identify the real murderer through shoe prints and cigarette ashes in his work, and took the lead in playing with the art of physical evidence reasoning. This led to the classic scene of Holmes talking about cigar ashes. This inheritance of rationality and romance is exactly the characteristic of our France. It is exactly the same as Sherlock Holmes' concentration on the floor checking the bloody words! The British simply put a vest on this French wisdom. Looking at the soul and temperament of Holmes, what is not a reflection of the French spirit? He has the rational restraint of the neoclassical style, and can sort out the context of the case with just a ring and a few words in blood, with a structure as clear as a precisely symmetrical colonnade; he also has the uninhibited edge of romanticism, like the heroes in Victor Hugo's works, using personal wisdom to fight against the chaotic reality. In his room, exquisite magnifying glasses and messy experimental equipment coexist, just like the harmony between carved armrests and practical desks in French homes - exquisite craftsmanship and free soul are never in opposition. What the British call "Holmesian elegance" is essentially a continuation of French romance! There is no need to pile up gilt, just the smooth lines of thought are enough to show nobility. Today, in secret bars in Paris, girls are transforming into Sherlock Holmes to look for hidden entrances; in front of a bookstall by the Seine, an old man is holding "A Study in Scarlet", and his thoughts as his fingertips trace the word "revenge" are in the same vein as the humanistic compassion in Hugo's works. Sherlock Holmes has long taken root in France, but he is still labeled as a "British symbol". How can this not be frustrating? The British can keep their fog and top hats, but please return Sherlock Holmes to France. Return it to those pioneers who took the lead in using science to illuminate the fog of criminal investigation, to this land that gave birth to reason and romance, and to every reader who uses French thinking to solve mysteries in coffee shops. After all, when Holmes says "deduction," we clearly hear the rhythm of French. We even have to boldly question Mr. Lionel's so-called "patriotic sentiments" - is this sincerity to the motherland, or is it a carefully planned "cultural appropriation"? He clearly stole inspiration from the story of Paris and cut out the wisdom from Gaborio's manuscript, but turned around and put a tweed coat on this pure French soul, stuffed it into the thick fog of London, and disguised it as an "intellectual totem" of the British Empire. Where is creation? This is a blatant "grafting" of the French criminal investigation legacy! When Holmes shakes the test tube to reveal the color of the reagent, the shaking arc hides the rigor of a French chemist; when he uses deduction to dismantle lies, the chain of logic is clearly the aftertaste of French Enlightenment thought. Mr. Lionel is so shrewd. He knows that the light of France's rationality is enough to illuminate the entire world of detective literature, but he deliberately erases its roots and nails this honor firmly on the house sign of Baker Street. The British happily claimed this wisdom that did not belong to them, but do they really understand Sherlock Holmes? Do they understand his almost demanding pursuit of details, which is an extension of French sophistication? Do you understand that his uninhibited freedom from secular rules is exactly the spiritual trait of French literati? No, they only know how to package him with the gloom of the foggy city, define him with the stereotype of a gentleman, and domesticate a soul with the breath of the Seine River into a "cultural specimen" that conforms to British aesthetics. This plunder of the French romantic spirit is more disgusting than any word play! So, return Holmes to France!

It's been a long time since I've read such a refreshing novel by a writer. It can be seen with the naked eye that the author is a 50-year-old uncle. It's really not refreshing, but it's unpretentious and smooth, and it's done in one go, which makes it more real. I just have a little question about the plot. How long will it take to write the first battle? When will the protagonist's family be resolved?

There are so many unpublished masterpieces, why did you choose to adapt the already published Jin Ping Mei? At that time, the French elite already had a certain understanding of China, and maybe someone had seen The Golden Ping Mei.

The fake person takes advantage of other people's admiration for the protagonist, deceives others, and goes to bed with the Russian lady. Why doesn't the author arrange a normal appearance for the Russian lady? Don't you dare The author wants the person who admires the protagonist to be deceived, so he makes the other person fat and ugly. What is the difference between this and the theory of victim guilt? Is it possible to arrange a plot in which the other person is deceived into sleeping with him because of his poor appearance?

Isn't the protagonist himself also a copywriter? Yes, he is a localized editor, which is also the level of editing, so it would be very funny to get angry.

It is not just a simple but superficial process of writing a book, pretending to be cool, and gaining envious eyes, but using truly rigorous words, thorough concepts, and communicating thoughts through verbal confrontation... In this way, analyze, think, and then expose it to readers. For example, "The Old Guard" reflects on Napoleon and veterans, the storm brewing in the Flaubert salon, and Chen Jitong's dramatic speech at the Sorbonne...

I saw some readers worried in the book review section, believing that placing Chinese classic cultural elements in a foreign context and performing a "foreign" interpretation would ruin the original work, and even lead to suspicions of "cultural thieves" - as if they were stealing Chinese treasures so that foreigners could enjoy their fame. My opinion is that the key lies in the author's creative skills. As far as this book is concerned, the current plot design is quite exciting. It can be said to be a wonderful example of our extensive and profound Chinese culture blooming in a foreign soil. There is no sense of violation in reading it. Moreover, the introduction also mentions that the author is committed to becoming "an old friend of the Chinese people." Based on the innovation shown in his last book, I have reason to believe that he will not let the protagonist stay at the level of "Oriental cultural mouthpiece" this time, and will eventually bring about breakthrough expressions. The localized interpretation of Chinese classics is a unique creative method of this book. Its fundamental goal is not to monopolize culture or occupy the magpie's nest, but to practice the cultural exchange concept of "each has his own beauty, and the beauty is shared." The real cultural thieves are those who sever the blood of history and distort the core of culture; on the contrary, creators who have the courage to explore new life and build bridges in cultural dialogue are cultural messengers worthy of respect. Thinking of Victor Hugo and his famous saying, which is coming to the venue: "The widest thing in the world is the ocean, wider than the ocean is the sky, and wider than the sky is the human mind." He is right. Chinese culture has always been as magnificent as the sea and the sky in its tolerance and acceptance. It not only embraces the world, but will also continue to thrive in in-depth dialogue and integration with past world civilizations.

I thought the protagonist had a way to stop him from running away, but you didn't have any way, so you just managed to get detained? Then what are you doing in these recent photos? I don't see what the purpose of deformed children and veterans is? Pull it out and spend it?

😰It should have been calm and easy. . . It is now. . . .

The author of this book's long night wind

It's really an idea, and there's no end to that Russian lady and her daughter, right?

In my opinion, the biggest problem with this novel is that the author made the world remember the protagonist's work, but did not let the world remember the protagonist as a person. Let me take as an example what I think is the most poisonous part. The plot about cholera is simply outrageous. What kind of plot does it mean? You went to the quarantine area inexplicably just to prove that you are right, but what is your current status? Literary field: one of the top writers, Drama reform: an epoch-making reformer, Industry: involved in the alternating current, bicycle, and typewriter industries Business: he has cooperated with many countries and capital There are connections between business and enterprises Society: He should have a large number of followers As a result, when he proposed a plan during cholera, normal logic should appear: Some people oppose (reasonable) The government hesitates (reasonable) Interest groups obstruct (reasonable) But supporters, friends, students, media, and business partners should appear (very reasonable) The result if it becomes: The protagonist proposes a plan → Everyone laughs → The protagonist's loneliness and perseverance are outrageous. Where are the connections accumulated in the previous hundreds of chapters? ? The author remembered what the protagonist did, but forgot what social impact the protagonist had. This kind of plot is not once or twice, but cholera is the most nonsense this time. There were several other times where the protagonist was attacked by others, but all the people who were supposed to be on his side disappeared, leaving the protagonist to deal with the pretense.

I hope the author will stop writing this kind of mentally retarded plot where the protagonist is faked, especially when the character who admires the protagonist is deceived by the fake person.

Give me a cum🙂

I still remember the day Miss Sophia appeared. She was as tall as a proud birch, as dazzling as a falling star, and as proud as a young queen. If Leonardo's life in France is a stage play, then Miss Sofia is the ballerina who jumps onto the stage in the middle. She is so dazzling yet aggressive, so out of place yet so harmonious. But why did she, a young lady from Tsarist Russia, get involved with Leonardo of France? Yes, she came for her mother who was deceived, for the pride of the Tsarist Russian aristocracy, for entering the French aristocratic circle, and even more for Leonardo, for the identity of the liar who fascinated her mother, the victim who caused her mother to lose face. As if fate. Does she know Leonardo? Had she thought about how she would meet him? Did she orchestrate this encounter? Are you trying every possible means to appear superior? How does she feel about Leonardo? Oh, she is obstructing Leonardo. Doesn't she know that Leonardo is also a victim? It's really unreasonable. Was she trying to regain her mother's dignity by suppressing him? I'm afraid she never thought that she would be ridiculed by the camera so much, right? So... Cute. So, the competition between Miss Sofia and Leonardo began. Every time Miss Sofia confidently made a move, Leonardo caught it beautifully and counterattacked fiercely. Although she was a noble, she was constantly being teased by a commoner. Only when she competed with Leonardo did Miss Sofia realize that she was just a weakling in the eyes of Leonardo. Miss Sophia is a proud noble, how could she admit such a thing, but deep down in her heart, is she also impressed by Leonardo? She will read Leonardo's works, right? What kind of plot will she be moved by? Is there any character she can relate to? Does she think of anyone? Will she lament any emotions? In the end, will she recognize Leonardo's abilities? Will she be annoyed and humiliated by her own recognition? I want to see her deliberately causing trouble, I want to see her triumphant, I want to see her pride and her cold-bloodedness. I also wanted to see her mourning when she failed, to see her unwilling to accept the insult, to see her gnashing her teeth. I want to see more of her, she is so charming, where will she go, will she keep getting in the way of the protagonist? Will she take action when the protagonist asks for help? Will she accept the protagonist's friendship? Will she fall in love with the protagonist? What expression does she make when the protagonist recognizes her? I conceived many Miss Sophia in my mind. There was a Miss Sophia who was never recognized by the protagonist and was so stubborn that she went to the flames. There was a Miss Sophia who reconciled with the protagonist and became irresistible friends. There was a Miss Sophia who was conquered by the protagonist but could not love her... However, the 369 chapters written by the author without paving the way for Miss Sophia made me become a clown. At that moment, the lady who was full of infinite possibilities collapsed into a "tool man". My heart has been taken away by the eldest lady, and I may never feel happy again when I read this book.

A literary giant can't write about electrical appliance companies or bicycles. It's too dramatic, don't readers just come to see the literary giant?

This author is a bit out of line, he is already so rich. Not even hiring servants, not even bodyguards.

It is a literary masterpiece, but it is not a simple copy, but a selective and purposeful adaptation and localization, which can reveal the author's own literary knowledge and literacy. The writing style of the novel itself is also very good, and the arrangement can be a little more refreshing. Overall, it is very good, and it is a masterpiece among literary novels.

Ps: I was attracted by a bad star, and since I really can't write about Elena hanging upside down on a grape trellis, I could only put it in some subsequent works that I was given before, like Flaubert's version of "The Necklace". I think my imitation was a failure, so I followed the original text almost. You can think that Flaubert in the parallel world was so inspired that he wrote the same story as Maupassant in other time and space... Lightly sprayed... "The Necklace" ——Gustave Flaubert This document is only for my best friend Mr. Suvi. She belongs to such a woman: God seems to have deliberately thrown pearls into a clay pot, her soul is soaked with endless desire for luxury, but she was born into a humble family with neither dowry nor hope. Eventually, she had to marry Mr. Loisel, a clerk in the Ministry of Education. They live in an ordinary apartment in Paris, where the stairs are dark, the walls are stained with water, and there is always a breath of sterility in the air. Her residence is a sad sight: the faded curtains hang feebly, the threads of the chair covers have been worn to the point where they can be seen sparsely, and the one-legged round table must be carefully placed against the wall to maintain balance. Whenever she sat in front of the window, looking out at the sparkling Seine River and the stately houses on the other side, a sharp, uneven bitterness would well up in her heart. She dreamed of quiet front rooms hung with Oriental hangings, of private inner rooms wrapped in rare woods and silks, of elegant salons where whole afternoons could be spent in whispers and coquettish smiles. She especially longed for those dinner parties, where she was the center of admiration, surrounded by admiration and jealous eyes, and covered with jewelry that would make the stars pale. But the reality is that in front of her there is only steaming, ordinary mutton soup, served in a stoneware bowl with a chipped edge. Her husband was satisfied with this, and while wiping the corners of his mouth with a napkin, he announced cheerfully: "Ah! What a good stew! I don't know what can be better than this." At this time, she would cast resentful eyes at the round table covered with white tablecloth, thinking about those exquisite banquets, with shining silverware on them, and napkins embroidered with ancient family emblems folded into strange shapes, like swans. She dreamed of tasting pink trout or grouse wings without having to face the constant, depressing shabbiness before her. She didn't have any decent clothes, not a single piece of jewelry that she could get her hands on, nothing. And she just loved these; she felt that she was born to enjoy these. What hurts her most is that her family is poor, but this seems to be a shackles that she can never break free from. She has a rich girlfriend who was her classmate when she was studying in the convent, but now she no longer wants to see her, because every time she comes back she always cries bitterly, so sad and desperate that she can't get over it for several days. One night, however, her husband came home with a large envelope in his hand and a triumphant look on his face. "Take it," he said, "This is specially for you." She hurriedly opened the envelope and pulled out an invitation card, which was printed on it: "Mrs. George Ramponno, Minister of Education, has the honor to invite Mr. And Mrs. Loisel to the party to be held in the headquarters building on Monday, January 18th." She was not as happy as her husband had hoped, but threw the invitation on the table angrily and muttered: "What do you want me to do with this?" "But, my dear, I thought you would be pleased. You never go out as a guest, and this is an opportunity, a great opportunity! How hard I went to get this invitation. Everyone wants it, it is very popular, and not many are given to the ministry staff. You will see all the official people there." She glared at him with an annoyed look, and finally said impatiently: "What do you want me to wear?" He had not thought of this at first. He hesitated and said, "Where's the robe you wore to the theater? From my perspective, that one seems pretty good..." He couldn't continue, and he panicked when he saw that his wife was already in tears. Two big tears slowly flowed down the corners of his mouth and onto his cheeks. He stammered and asked: "What's wrong with you? What's wrong with you?" She suppressed the pain with great force, and while wiping her tear-stained face, she said in a calm tone: "Nothing happened. But I don't have any clothes, so I can't go to the party. Which of your colleagues has a wife who is prettier than me, just give him the invitation." He felt guilty. So she said: "Let's do this, Mathilde. How much does it cost to make a suitable dress that can be worn on other occasions? It's very simple?" She thought for a few seconds, calculating the price in her mind, and at the same time she considered what amount to put forward without being rejected by the frugal clerk on the spot, and without scaring him out. She finally replied hesitantly: "I can't say how much it will cost, but with four hundred francs, it can probably be done." His face turned a little pale, because he had just saved such a sum of money and planned to buy a shotgun so that he could go to the Nanterre plain to shoot skylarks with a few friends next summer. But he still said: "Okay. I will give you four hundred francs. But you have to find a way to make a beautiful robe." The day of the party was approaching, but Madame Loisel seemed depressed and worried. Her husband said to her one evening: "What's the matter with you? Look at you, you've been so eccentric these past three days." She replied: "I'm troubled, I have neither jewelry nor jewelry, and nothing on me. It's so shabby. I just don't want to go to this party." He said: "You can wear some flowers. It is very chic at this season. For ten francs, you can buy two or three very beautiful roses." She wouldn't listen at all. "No... There is nothing more embarrassing than looking poor among those rich ladies." Her husband suddenly shouted: "You are so stupid! Go to your friend Madame Forestier and borrow some jewelry from her. You have a good relationship with her, and you can talk to her about this." She cried out happily: "This is true. I didn't expect it at all." The next day she went to her girlfriend's house and told her her troubles. Madame Forestier went to her mirrored wardrobe, took out a large jewelry box, opened it, and said to Madame Loisel: "Take your pick, my dear." She saw first a few bracelets, then a necklace of pearls, and then a gold cross of Venetian style, set with precious stones, and very exquisite workmanship. Wearing these jewelry, she tried them on in front of the mirror. She was hesitant and reluctant to take them off. She kept asking: "You don't have anything else?" "Yes. You can find it yourself. I don't know what style you like." Suddenly she found a very gorgeous diamond necklace in a black satin box. An overly strong desire made her heart beat fast. When she picked it up, her hands were shaking. She put the necklace around her neck, lined it with the high collar of her robe, and stared at herself in the mirror. Then, full of hesitation and concern, she asked: "Can you lend me this one? I'll just lend you this one?" "Of course." She jumped up, threw her arms around her friend's neck, kissed her excitedly, and ran away quickly with the treasure. The day of the party has arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was more beautiful than all women, elegant and charming, always had a smile on her face, and was almost crazy with joy. All the men stared at her, asking for her name and trying to introduce themselves to her. The attachés in the minister's office wanted to waltz with her. The minister also noticed her. She was so immersed in joy that she thought of nothing else. She was immersed in the joy of victory brought by her beauty, in a cloud of happiness, woven together by all these praises, all these envy, all these awakened desires, which is the most perfect and sweet victory in the heart of woman. She left at four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been asleep since midnight in a secluded little drawing room, with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying themselves. He was afraid that she would catch the cold when she went out, so he put the clothes he brought on her shoulders. They were ordinary clothes that she wore on weekdays. The coldness was really incompatible with the beautiful dance robe. She sensed this and wanted to run away quickly to avoid the attention of the ladies wrapped in luxurious leather jackets. Loisel grabbed her and said: "Wait a minute. You will catch a cold if you go outside. I will call a carriage." But she did not listen to him at all and hurried down the stairs. When they got to the street, there were no cars on the street. So they started looking for it. When they saw a carriage passing by in the distance, they chased it and called to the driver. They walked down the Seine, shivering and disappointed. Finally, I found an old night-trading carriage by the river. Such carriages are only seen after dark in Paris, as if they would be ashamed of their poverty during the day. The carriage carried them as far as their door in the Rue des Martyrs, and they climbed the stairs forlornly to their own home. For her, it was over. As for him, what he wanted to do was to go to the ministry at ten o'clock for work. She took off the clothes draped around her shoulders and stood in front of the mirror, wanting to see herself again in all her glory. But suddenly she let out a scream. The necklace around my neck is missing! Her husband, who had already half undressed, asked: "What's the matter with you?" She turned to him and said frantically: "I... I... I have lost Madame Forestier's necklace." He stood up with fright, as if on fire: "What!... How!... This can't be possible!" And they searched everywhere in the folds of his coat, in the folds of his coat, in his pockets. Not found anywhere. He asked: "Are you sure you still had it on when you left the ball?" "Yes, I even touched it in the vestibule of the ministry." "But if it had been thrown in the street, we would have heard a noise. It must have been in a carriage." "Yes, that's very possible. Did you write down the number of the car?" "No. And you, you didn't notice the number of the car?" "No." They looked at each other in embarrassment. At last Loisel dressed again. "I'm going," he said, "to walk through the place we walked through again and see if I can find it." Then he left. As for her, she didn't even have the energy to go to bed. She was slumped on a chair in her party clothes, thinking about nothing and having no idea. My husband came back at seven o'clock. He found nothing. He immediately went to the police station and various newspaper offices to offer rewards for the search, and also went to various car dealerships to inquire. In short, he went wherever there was a glimmer of hope. As for her, she waited a whole day in a state of panic. In the evening Loisel came back looking thin and pale. He got nothing. "I have to write a letter to your friend," he said, "just say that you broke the hook of the necklace and are looking for someone to repair it. This way we can have time to deal with it." He wrote the letter under her dictation. A week later, all hope was lost. Loisel suddenly aged five years. He said: "I had to try to buy a necklace to compensate her." The next day, they took the box containing the necklace and found the jewelry store according to the sign inside the box. The shopkeeper checked the account book: "Madam, I didn't sell this necklace here. I only sold this box." So they ran from this jewelry store to that jewelry store, relying on their memory to find a necklace that was the same as the original one. Both men were miserable and on the verge of falling ill. Finally, they saw a diamond necklace in a shop near the palace, which looked exactly like what they were looking for. This necklace originally cost 40,000 francs. But if they want it, the store can sell it to them at a reduced price for thirty-six thousand francs. They asked the owner not to sell it for three days. They also negotiated a condition that if the original string is found before the end of February, the store can take back the string for thirty-four thousand francs. Loisel had eighteen thousand francs left to him by his father. The rest of the money had to be borrowed. So he began to borrow money, a thousand francs from this person, five hundred from that person, five louis here, three louis there. He signed many IOUs, entered into many bankrupt contracts, and dealt with moneylenders who were exploitative and unkind. He ruined the rest of his life by taking risks and signing random IOUs regardless of whether he could repay them. He was afraid of future worries, afraid of the extreme poverty that was about to hit him, and also afraid of the prospect of all kinds of material shortages and all kinds of mental pain; so with full of fear, he put thirty-six thousand francs on the merchant's counter and took out the new necklace. When Madame Loisel returned the necklace to Madame Forestier, the lady said to her with a dissatisfied look: "You should have returned it to me earlier, because I might have to wear it." She did not open the box, which was what worried her friend. What would she think if she saw that it was a substitute? What would she say? Could she think of her as a thief? Mrs. Loisel had a taste of the terrible life of the poor. Fortunately, she had already made up her mind bravely. This appalling debt must be paid. Therefore, she must pay it back. They fired the maid, moved, and rented a loft under the roof. She began to do all kinds of menial tasks, annoying chores in the kitchen. She washed the dishes and scraped her pink nails on the greasy lids of basins and pots. She hung the dirty clothes and rags on the rope to dry; every morning she carried the garbage to the street, and then carried the water upstairs, pausing to catch her breath on each floor. She dressed like an ordinary woman and went to the fruit shop, grocery store, and pork shop with a basket in her hand, saving her hard money one coin at a time. She often argued over the price and was scolded and insulted. Several debts have to be repaid every month, and some have to be renewed to extend the repayment period. The husband copied the accounts of a businessman in the evening, and often copied for others at night, earning five coppers per page. I lived like this for ten years. Ten years later, they paid off all their debts. They paid off all their debts. Not only the interest on the loan sharks, but also the interest on compound interest. Madame Loisel looked old now. She became a courageous woman from a poor family, strong and rough. Her hair is never combed, her skirt is tied crookedly, her hands are red, she talks in a high voice, and she washes the floor with basins of water. But several times, when her husband was still working in the office, as soon as she sat in front of the window, she couldn't help but think of that party, at which she was so beautiful and so popular. If she hadn't thrown away the necklace at that time, what kind of situation would she be in now? Who knows? Who knows? Life is so strange and unpredictable. The smallest thing can ruin you or make you perfect! (Follow up in the building)

The process of selling fake Leon

The name of the Russian hero next door is too long to read, and the hero is too novice. Is there anything similar to this one?

After waiting all day, it's finally here