Learned by Heart by Donoghue Emma

Learned by Heart by Donoghue Emma

Author:Donoghue, Emma [Donoghue, Emma]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical, Romance, Adult
ISBN: 9780316564434
Amazon: 0316564435
Goodreads: 62874041
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2023-08-29T07:00:00+00:00


Virgin, n., a woman unacquainted with men.

Scrat, n., a goblin, monster, devil, hermaphrodite.

Love, n., the passion between the sexes.

Grubble, v., to feel in the dark.

She’s blushing, obscurely troubled. She supposes it serves her right for prying. She closes the book and tucks it back under Lister’s pillow.

In French class Monsieur is setting them still more proverbs to get by heart. Il y a anguille sous roche. There’s an eel under the rock, an image Eliza finds somehow more repulsive than the English equivalent, A snake in the grass.

Ce n’est pas la mer à boire. (Eliza likes that cold comfort: It’s no great matter—you don’t have to drink the whole sea.)

Qui n’avance pas, recule. (To not move forwards is to fall back.)

Petit à petit, l’oiseau fait son nid. (Little by little, the bird makes her nest.)

Qui vivra verra means If you live, you’ll see. This one’s sharper than Time will tell; it reminds Eliza of the guillotine that Monsieur somehow evaded. She seems to remember an Indian saying along the lines of No hand can catch time.

Monsieur goes on a rant about girls who believe “Quel temps est-il?” is the way to ask the time. “L’heure means counted time, as I have told you before, whereas le temps is used for uncountable time or weather.”

Uncountable time: Eliza tries to commit that phrase to memory.

Lister mentions an English proverb, Time flies among friends—do the French say that?

The master shakes his head. “We have a different one. L’amour fait passer le temps, le temps fait passer l’amour.”

Lister’s face falls. “Mais c’est si cynique, Monsieur.”

“What’s so cynical?” Fanny whispers.

“Love passes the time?” That’s Nan.

Eliza shakes her head and translates under her breath: “Love kills time, time kills love.” Neatly phrased—the French have a knack for these jokes—but how it stings. She wonders whether Monsieur believes this sad creed. He looks like a man who’s lost a great deal already.



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