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127 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1962
“And yet I am such a harmonious person,” she whispered. “And how I love symmetry. Just look at my two geraniums on the window ledge. There’s one on the right and one on the left – symmetrical. No, you must believe me, inwardly I am quite different. Quite different.”
When the first flash went across the sky like a rip the girl reached for the hand of the young man and pressed it to her breast. The thunder barked petulantly above the roof tops. For seconds both closed their eyes.
In the end only the wind will remain. When everything else is gone, tears, hunger, machines and music, then there will only be the wind left. He will outlive everything, stone and street, even immortal love. And he will sing comfortingly in the sparse shrubs which crown our snow-clad graves. And on summer evenings he will court the sweet flowers and playfully dance with them – today, tomorrow, always.
Birds, towels and horns annoy me because I can’t join in, because I’m ill: tap – tap – bang – bang.
But I am making every effort to be patient, like a martyr whose fingernails are being burned off and who wants to please God with his angelic patience.