The lady was thinking in a dull, dreary landscape while she was remembering all the things she wanted to forget. The rough words he said, the iciness with which he fill the conversation they had.
“He arranged all the things” –she thought – “I just fall in his tramp” –He left her down in a malady she would never get over. Her mind was traveling by a bleak space, which her memories called home. It was like an archway, a narrow one that was illuminated by a feeble light.
The lady rattled with herself for hours, hesitating about everything and nothing at the same time making a carving of his pain, a mental carving.
She imagined herself like a tattered peasantry, without dreams or illusions. But she knew well that peasantries had dreams, she just didn’t find a better metaphor.
She was tired to death of everything, of nothing. She thought she would never be able to leave that bleak place… until she opened her eyes and awoke.
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