| Quote #4
Ever since that spring day when, on the white highway a dozen kilometers from Nice, she had touched, laughing, the live wire of a storm-felled pole, Chorb's entire world ceased to sound like a world: it retreated at once, and even the dead body that he carried in his arms to the nearest village struck him as something alien and needless (7).
Ooh, more Orpheus stuff. Since Orpheus was famous as a musician, it’s fitting that Chorb’s world ceased to "sound" at his wife’s death.
| Quote #5
Behind the curtain the casement was open and one could make out, in the velvety depths, a corner of the opera house, the black shoulder of a stone Orpheus outlined against the blue of the night, and a row of light along the dim façade which slanted off into darkness. Down there, far away, diminutive dark silhouettes swarmed as they emerged from bright doorways onto the semicircular layers of illuminated porch steps, to which glided up cars with shimmering headlights and smooth glistening tops (33).
Just look at the language in this passage and tell us you don’t get goosebumps. As a reader, we’re getting set up for the very next paragraph in the text…