Besides, I always go to Warsaw for the races. Who
would believe that my aunt, a grave, serious-minded lady, devoted to
the management of the estate, to prayer and benevolent schemes, had
such a worldly weakness as horse-racing. It is her one passion. Maybe
the knightly instincts which women inherit as well as men, find an
outlet in this noble sport. Our horses have been running for Heaven
knows how many years,--and are always beaten. My aunt never fails to
attend the races, and is an enthusiast about horses. While her own
horses are running, she stands on the back seat of her carriage,
leaning on a stick, her bonnet usually awry, and watches for the
result,--then gets very angry, and for at least a month makes
Chwastowski's life a burden to him. At present I hear she has reared
a wonderful horse, and she bids me to come and witness the triumph of
the black and orange colors. I shall go. There are other reasons too
which make me inclined to go. As I have said, I am comparatively
speaking calm, do not wish for anything, or expect anything, am
resigned in fact to that kind of spiritual paralysis until the time
comes when bodily paralysis carries me off, as it carried off my
father. Nevertheless, I cannot forget altogether, therefore it is
only a partial paralysis. The one being I ever loved presents herself
before my mind in two shapes.
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