[p. 80v]
[1632] them, and that my story, so clear up till now, may not close in obscurity, the obscurity of the giant fronds of this vast wildwood where I go my hobbling way,
halting, listening, falling, rising, listening, hobbling on, and sometimes wondering,
needless to say, if I shall ever see again the hated light, the unloved light, palely spread between the last stems, and my mother, to settle our account, and if I had not better hang myself from a bough, with a tendril.
[1633] For as to the light, frankly, I did not want it, and as to my mother, it was perhaps too much to expect that she was still waiting for me, after all this time.
[1634] And my leg, my legs.
[1635] But the thought of suicide had little hold on me, I don't know why, I thought I knew, but I see not.
[1636] The thought of strangulation in particular, however tempting, I had always vanquished, after a short struggle.
[1637] The truth is I had never had any trouble with my respiratory tracts, apart naturally from the disorders inseparable from that system.
[1638] Yes, I could count the days when the air, with its celebrated oxygen, would neither go down inside me nor, having finally done so, let itself be expelled, I could have counted them.
[1639] Ah yes, my asthma, how often I was tempted to put an end to it, by cutting my throat.
[1640] But I never gave in.
[1641] The noise betrayed me, I turned purple.
[1642] This came on mostly at night, on which I could not decide whether to be be sorry or glad.
[1643] For if sudden changes of complexion are of less consequence by night, on the other hand the least untoward noise is then more noticeable, because of the silence of the
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[p. 81r]
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