Чума
Part V
LongafterleavingtheboulevardsTarrouandRieuxcouldstillhearthesoundsofhappinessfollowingthem,atthesametimeasindesertedside-streetstheywalkedpastwindowswithclosedshutters.Andpreciselybecauseoftheirtiredness,theycouldnotseparatethissuffering,whichcontinuedbehindtheshutters,fromthejoythatfilledthestreetsonlyashortdistanceaway.Thecomingdeliverancewastwo-faced,combininglaughterandtears.
Atatimewhenthenoisegrewlouderandmorejoyful,Tarroustopped.Ashapewasrunninglightlyacrossthedarkstreet.Itwasacat,thefirstthathadbeenseensincethespring.Itstoppedforamomentinthemiddleoftheroad,hesitated,lickeditspaw,quicklypasseditacrossitsrightear,thencarriedonitssilentwayandvanishedintothenight.Tarrousmiled.Thelittleoldman,too,wouldbehappy.
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However,atthemomentwhentheplagueseemedtobemovingawaytoreturntotheunknownlairfromwhichithadsilentlyemerged,therewasatleastonepersoninthetownwhowasthrownintoastateofconsternationbythisdeparture,namelyCottard(ifoneistobelieveTarrou’snotebooks).
Asithappens,thesenotebooksbecomequitepeculiarfromthetimewhenthefiguresstarttofall.Perhapsbecauseoftiredness,thewritingbecomeshardtoreadandthewriterhopstoooftenfromonesubjecttoanother.Moreover,forthefirsttimethenotebooksabandonobjectivityandmakewayforpersonalconsiderations.
