Le toast de Londres (French Edition)

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I could not see her eyes—she did not lift them; but I saw her thin, high eyebrows, her long lashes; these were moist, and on her cheek gleamed a dried-up teardrop, which had stopped near her somewhat pale lips.

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Her entire small head was very charming; even her somewhat thick and round nose did not spoil it. I liked especially the expression of her face; it was so simple and gentle, so sad and so full of childish perplexity before her own sadness. She was apparently waiting for some one. Something cracked faintly in the forest.

She listened for a few seconds, not moving her wide-open eyes from the spot whence the faint sound had come; she heaved a sigh, turned her head slowly, bent down still lower and began to examine the flowers. Her eyelids turned red, her lips quivered bitterly and a new teardrop rolled down from under her heavy eyelashes, stopping and sparkling on her cheek. Thus quite a long while passed; the poor girl did hot stir—only occasionally she moved her hands and listened—listened all the time. Something cracked once more in the forest—she started. This time the noise did not stop, it was becoming more distinct, it was nearing—at last firm footsteps were heard.

She straightened herself, and it seemed as if she lost her courage, for her eyes began to quiver. The figure of a man appeared through the jungle. She looked fixedly, suddenly flushed, and, smiling joyously and happily, seemed about to rise, but she immediately cast down her head again, turned pale, confused—only then she lifted her quivering, almost prayerful, eyes to the man as he paused beside her.

I looked at him from my hiding-place with curiosity. I confess he did not produce a pleasant impression upon me. He was, by all appearances, a spoiled valet of some rich young man. His clothes betokened a claim to taste and smart carelessness. He wore a short top-coat of bronze color, which evidently belonged to his master, and which was buttoned up to the very top; he had on a pink necktie with lilac-colored edges; and his black velvet cap, trimmed with gold stripes, was pulled over his very eyebrows.

The round collar of his white shirt propped his ears up and cut his cheeks mercilessly, and the starched cuffs covered his hands up to his red, crooked fingers, which were ornamented with silver and gold rings, set with forget-me-nots of turquoise.

His red, fresh, impudent face belonged to those countenances which, as far as I have observed, are almost always repulsive to men, but, unfortunately, are often admired by women. Apparently trying to give an expression of contempt and of weariness to his rough features, he was forever closing his small, milky-gray eyes, knitting his brows, lowering the corners of his lips, yawning forcedly, and, with careless, although not too clever, ease, now adjusting his reddish, smartly twisted temple-curls, now fingering the yellow hair which bristled upon his thick upper lip—in a word, he was making an insufferable display of himself.

He started to do this as soon as he noticed the young peasant girl who was awaiting him.

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He advanced to her slowly, with large strides, then stood for a while, twitched his shoulders, thrust both hands into the pockets of his coat, and, casting a quick and indifferent glance at the poor girl, sank down on the ground. What nonsense—to whimper! My master, it seems, wants to enter the service in St.


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Still, you are without education—therefore you must obey when you are told to. Here, look, what a pretty flower!

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Victor held out his hand lazily, took the flowers, smelt them carelessly, and began to turn them around in his fingers, looking up with thoughtful importance. Akulina gazed at him. There was so much tender devotion, reverent obedience, and love in her pensive eyes. She at once feared him, and yet she dared not cry, and inwardly she bade him farewell, and admired him for the last time; and he lay there, stretched out like a sultan, and endured her admiration with magnanimous patience and condescension.


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  7. I confess I was filled with indignation as I looked at his red face, which betrayed satisfied selfishness through his feigned contempt and indifference. Akulina was so beautiful at this moment. All her soul opened before him trustingly and passionately;—it reached out to him, caressed him, and he—He dropped the cornflowers on the grass, took out from the side-pocket of his coat a round glass in a bronze frame and began to force it into his eye; but no matter how hard he tried to hold it with his knitted brow, his raised cheek, and even with his nose, the glass dropped out and fell into his hands.

    She closed the eye before which she held the glass. The other one! Consider it yourself! Winter is near, and to pass the winter in the country is simply nasty—you know it yourself.

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    Just think of her! Victor again stretched himself on the ground and began to whistle. Akulina kept looking at him steadfastly. I could see that she was growing agitated by degrees—her lips twitched, her pale cheeks were reddening. So, I love the way the movie is very true, I knew people exactly like Lon Chaney who tried that trick of being sexually unthreatening.

    Let's talk about My Winnipeg This movie somehow a melodrama. Yeah, I think so. When you close your eyes and think about Winnipeg, what is the first image that comes to mind. Oh, man! What are you thinking about the relation between film and philosophy?

    The French philosopher Gilles Deleuze said that some filmmakers are philosophers. Do you agree or disagree? I am not much of a philosopher so I am not sure. Maybe, Deleuze wouls just throw my filmmaking. We can consider cinema to be looking through a keyhole. Can we say the same about your movies? Even it goes back to my - I made a movie in called Cowards Bend the Knee and that originally was an installation at a museum with 10 chapters, each one exactly 6 minutes long.

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    It was autobiographical and people were meant to watch my life through a keyhole, there is just a little hole in the wall and there is TV-monitor on the other side, while I confessed all sorts of horrible things about my life, people would watch. And then when I designed the movie Keyhole, I wanted this Internet act of being part of it, which would be made out of lost films actually and autobiographical garbage.

    I wanted them, it never happened, these Internet movies whenever camera went pass the door with the keyhole in it, you could have the option of I guess clicking on a keyhole somehow, and the the camera would zoom into the keyhole and look into the next room and the next story would be there. That was a way I was going to start connecting whole bunch of lost movies to each other, people would be able to connect all sorts of stories together in strange ways. Now I am still going ahead making an Internet interactive piece that will be launched in the fall but they are not connected by keyhole or anything like that.

    There are lots of rooms and lots of chambers. But once my partner Evan Johnson came on as a co-creator we started thinking of the interactive in different terms.