“I loved her as much as anyone. But that is not a number.”
His lawyer begged him: “Say you were sad. Say you loved her. Cry. Please .” libro el extranjero de albert camus
Meursault was not a cruel man. He was simply a man who forgot to perform grief. “I loved her as much as anyone
Meursault looked at him. “It would be a lie.” whose name he never learned.
The Arab was lying on the shore. A shimmer of water, a slash of shadow. Meursault took a step forward. The sun hit him like a long, silent scream. The trigger gave way like a sigh.
He thought of Marie, who would soon find another yes. Of Salamano, who lost his dog. Of the Arab, whose name he never learned.