She [Mme Sazerat] did not offer her hand, but smiled at my mother with vague melancholy as one smiles at a playmate from one’s childhood, but with whom all connection has been severed because she has lived a debauched life, married a jailbird or, worse still, a divorced man.

She [Mme Sazerat] did not offer her hand, but smiled at my mother with vague melancholy as one smiles at a playmate from one’s childhood, but with whom all connection has been severed because she has lived a debauched life, married a jailbird or, worse still, a divorced man.

– Marcel Proust –

The Guermantes Way

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