I real the narrator's account of Vintieul's only daughter and her female lover spitting on the composer's photograph. A sad scene, and yet the narrator seems to have a strange sympathy with the daugter, and he feels that although she is trying very hard to be evil, she at heart, cannot be. People in Proust are very strange, almost like in real life. Tante Leonie finally dies, and Francoise, whom she terrorized, is bereft.
I like how Proust compared Francoise and some of the denizens of Combray and environs to medieval sculptures in the churches. Haven't you ever seen a face or recognized a character that belonged to another age? Happens all the time. How clever of Proust to see it. I admire Proust more with every page I read. His genius shines in every sentence.
Go ye forth and read Proust.