And she followed them in thought up and down the hills, traversing villages, gliding along the highroads by the light of the stars. The head-master made a sign to us to sit down. Then, turning to the class-master, he said to him in a low voice- Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend to your care, he'll be in the second. If his work and conduct are satisfactory, he will go intoone of the upper classes, as becomes his age.
We began repeating the lesson. He listened with all his ears, as attentive as if at a sermon, not daring even to cross his legs or lean on his elbow and when at two o'clock the bell rang, the master was obliged to tell him to fall into line with the rest of us. She bought a plan of Paris, and with the tip of her finger on the map she walked about the capital. She went up the boulevards, stopping at every turning, between the lines of the streets. She took in "La Corbeille," a lady's journal, and the "Sylphe des Salons." She devoured, without skipping a word, all the accounts of the first nights, races, and soirees, took interest in the debut of a singer, in the opening of a new shop.
A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo with bursts of shrill voices (they yelled, barked, stamped, repeated "Charbovari! Charbovari"), then died away into single notes, growing quieter only with great difficulty, and now and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form whence rose here and there, like a damp cracker going off, a stifled laugh. However, amid a rain of impositions, order was gradually re-established in the class; and the master having succeeded in catching the name of "Charles Bovary," having had it dictated to him, spelt out, and re-read, at once ordered the poor devil to go and sit down on the punishment form at the foot of the master's desk. He got up, but before going hesitated. "What are you looking for?" asked the master.
No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...