She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work. When I think of those ateliers of ours, the art jargon, the decadents with their flamboyant talk I long for a twoedged sword and a minute of Divinity. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, after a long interval, “if they are absurd.
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