‘If he should forever ahsk me.’ The ah, released from the sentence, flew off like a ball on the meadow. His gravity is the death of me. His head in its collar, his hair arranged immovably on his skull, the muscles of his jowels below, tensed in their places – Are the woods still there? The woods were still almost there. But hardly had my glance gone ten steps farther when I left off, again caught up in the tedious conversation. In the dark woods, on the sodden ground, I found my way only by the whiteness of his collar. In a dream I asked the dancer Eduardova1 to dance the Czardas just one time more. She had a broad streak of shadow or light across the middle of her face between the lower part of her forehead and the cleft of her chin. Just then someone with the loathsome gestures of an unconscious intriguer approached to tell her the train was leaving immediately. The manner in which she listened to this announcement made it terribly clear to me that she would not dance again.
What do You think about The Diaries Of Franz Kafka?
