A selection from the new Proust translation Babel Fish and I are working on together:

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A delicious pleasure had invaded me, insulated, without the concept of its cause. It me had at once returned the vicissitudes of the life indifferent, its disasters inoffensive, its illusory brevity, in the same way which the love operates, by filling me of an invaluable gasoline: or rather this gasoline was not in me, it was me.