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‘The last four days have been more beautiful than one can say; more beautiful than I could endure. A sort of call to happiness in which all nature conspired in a miraculous swoon, reaching a summit of love and joy in which the human being has nothing further to wish for but death. On such a night one would love to kiss the flowers, cares the tree trunks, embrance any young and ardent body whatever or prowl in search of it till dawn. Going off to bed alone as I have nevertheless to decide to do, seems impious.’ | ‘The last four days have been more beautiful than one can say; more beautiful than I could endure. A sort of call to happiness in which all nature conspired in a miraculous swoon, reaching a summit of love and joy in which the human being has nothing further to wish for but death. On such a night one would love to kiss the flowers, cares the tree trunks, embrance any young and ardent body whatever or prowl in search of it till dawn. Going off to bed alone as I have nevertheless to decide to do, seems impious.’ | ||
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