July 12, 2019
I wrung my hands under my dark veil. . . “Why are you pale, what makes you reckless?” — Because I have made my loved one drunk with an astringent sadness. I’ll never forget. He went out, reeling; his mouth was twisted, desolate. . . I ran downstairs, not touching the banisters, and followed him as far as the gate. And shouted, choking: “I meant it all in fun.