Explore "Madame Baptiste" by Guy De Maupassant on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
When I went into the waiting-room at the station at Loubain, the first thing I did was to look at the clock, and I found that I had two hours and ten minutes to wait for the Paris express.
I felt suddenly tired, as if I had walked twenty miles. Then I looked about me, as if I could find some means of killing the time on the station walls. At last I went out again, and halted outside the gates of the station, racking my brains to find something to do. The street, which was a kind of boulevard planted with stunted laburnum-trees, between two rows of houses of unequal shape and different styles of architecture, houses such as one sees in only small towns, ascended a slight hill, and at the extreme end of it there were some trees, as if it ended in a park.