ThE TImE OF INdIFfERENCe
She did not feel hungry, among all those things hungry for her life; truly, this room in which she should have nourished herself had been nourished by her: all those inanimate objects had sucked her vitality day by day, with a tenacity stronger than her vain attempts at liberation: in the dark wood of the swollen cabinets flowed her best blood; in that eternal whiteness of the air, the milk of her flesh had dissolved, in the old mirror there, in front of her place, the image of her adolescence had remained imprisoned
