And yet again the desire to write to you comes to me, Armand, not so much to put order into my mind’s turmoil as to share it with you, you who are its cause and inspiration. It was very late when I got home, after our encounter in the cellar of the Palace, and my family was already sitting at the table. It was all so different to my eyes. Time flowed peacefully around me, and I managed, for the first time, to take care of my own needs. I even found my appetite, which surprised those around me. And then I asked permission to go to my room, and I shut myself in, and while only a few hours earlier I had felt my limbs quivering with the need to act, simply to act, this time I lay down in company with the thought of you, in company with stillness and silence. The passing of the minutes caresses me, does not wound me; life smiles at me, does not oppress me. And the circumstances that brought us together return to my mind. I. “Nannerl, you’re purple. Try to calm down.” “Did you see how the singer is dressed?
