They’re just a joyous softening of the outline—more beautiful than perfection. She fell into a deep delirium, whispering hoarsely to her dead mother, cursing God in Heaven, cursing her doctor, cursing herself as apparitions of devils and demons pulled at her with yellow ochre hands. I want to be a human being; I want to learn about things and know about things, and not to be protected as something too precious for life, cooped up in one narrow little corner. “I will not have this slavery. Tomorrow you will feel like a freed woman.
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