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p. 108


For whom shall I rouge my lips now? For whom shall I polish my nails? For whom perfume my hair?

For whom shall I rub my breasts with rouge, if they can no longer tempt her? For whom shall I flush my arms with milk, if they never again can hold her!

How shall I be able to sleep? How shall I get to bed? Tonight my hand, in all the bed, has not found her own warm hand.

I dare no longer enter my home, into the room, frightfully bare. I no longer dare open the door again. I never dare open my eyes.

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