Swann's Way - Marcel Proust
I could hear the whistling of trains, which, now nearer and now farther off, punctuating the distance like the note of a bird in a forest, showed me in perspective the deserted countryside through which a traveler would be hurrying towards the nearest station: the path that he followed being fixed forever in his memory by the general excitement due to being in a strange place... to farewells exchanged beneath an unfamiliar lamp which echoed still in his ears amid the silence of the night.
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