her in my arms and therefore priced her more highly,
she could sell herself for much more than she would
have received if, like a nocturnal ghoul, she had
roamed the sidewalks and haunted the obscene
shadows of the streets. . . . She had swallowed my
fortune in one gulp. . . . Her lips had rendered my
mentality sterile at the first touch. Now she is
gambling with my honor, that is consistent. . . . With
my honor! . . . How could she know that I had none
left? . . .
But am I really going to kill her? . . . When one is dead, everything is forgotten! . . . One bares one's head before the coffin of a criminal, one bows in sadness before the dead body of a prostitute. . . . In the churches, believers kneel down and pray for those who have suffered, for those who have sinned. . . . At the cemeteries reverence watches over the graves and the cross protects them. . . . To die is to be forgiven! . . Yes, death is beautiful, holy, noble! . . . Death is the beginning of the great eternal light. . . . Ah, to die!
. . . to stretch oneself out on a mattress softer than
the softest most in birds' nests. . . . To think no more . . . To hear the noise of life no longer! . . . To feel the infinite sweetness of nothingness! . . . To be a soul! . . .
I shall not kill her. . . . I shall not kill her because she has to suffer. . . terribly, always. . . . Let her suffer in all her beauty, in all her pride, in her exposed carnality of a prostitute! . . . I shall not kill her, but I shall disfigure her to such an extent, I shall make her look so repulsive that people, frightened, will flee at the sight of her. . . . And every evening I shall compel her to appear on the streets, at the theatre, everywhere with her nose crushed, her eyes bulging out from under eyelids fringed with black rings, without a veil! . . .
