You could go out, leave your armchair once in a while.

Your father would take us into the country.

You would see the water and the trees you have had such a longing to see." "Oh! the trees," murmured the pale little recluse, trembling from head to foot.
At that moment the street door of the house was closed violently, and M.
Delobelle's measured step echoed in the vestibule.

There was a moment of speechless, breathless anguish.

The women dared not look at each other, and mamma's great scissors trembled so that they cut the wire crooked.
The poor devil had unquestionably received a terrible blow.