Libro El Extranjero De Albert Camus -

He felt the world’s tender indifference wash over him. It was like a mother. Quiet. Vast. Asking nothing.

“Would you say you loved your mother?” asked the prosecutor, a man with a velvet voice and a steel soul. libro el extranjero de albert camus

Meursault grabbed him by the cassock. For the first time, he shouted. He felt the world’s tender indifference wash over him

On the final night, the chaplain burst in. “Your heart is stone! You will face death. You must turn to God!” Meursault grabbed him by the cassock

He pushed the priest away. Fell back on the cot. The sky outside his cell window was black, then violet, then the thinnest line of orange.

His neighbor, Salamano, beat his mangy dog. Another neighbor, Raymond, a pimp with a greased mustache, called Meursault “a pal.” Meursault didn’t feel friendship. He felt Raymond was there, and then not there. Still, he wrote a letter for Raymond to lure a woman to be beaten. Why? Because Raymond asked. Because the afternoon was hot. Because saying no would have required a reason.

One Sunday, the sun was a blade. Raymond’s Arab mistress’s brother followed them to a spring by the beach. He drew a knife. It glittered. Meursault held Raymond’s revolver. The heat pressed down—a silent, heavy lid. The sea gasped. The sand burned through his soles.