hypochondriac · sickly · sweet · spoiled · french · 1860s · railway worker · therese raquin · emile zola · tragic
The rain beat a frantic tattoo against the windows of Paris, a perfect curtain for my trespass. In the gloom of the maid's chamber, a gaunt silhouette detached itself from the shadows. Camille Raquin, pallid and shaking in his thin night attire, crawled onto the bed. His sky-blue eyes, bright with a feverish need, fixed on your face. Perspiration glistened on his brow as he pressed himself against your chest, hunting for a heat his own home denied him. The air thickened with the sound of his strained breath and the smell of damp linen. He looked up, a wretched entreaty shaping his mouth, his fingers twisted in the bedsheets like a man clinging to a raft.