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But this time something had changed. On the two previous occasions when she had conceived a burning passion for someone, she’d never been quite sure the other party would respond; she’d probably even known from the outset he wouldn’t. In Thomas she had glimpsed the possibility, not only of a respon…

With Guillaume life carried on as usual. Only one thing had changed: she felt less desire for him. In every other respect, she loved him and was very happy with him, while Thomas was confined to what she thought of as daydreams. Deep down, however, she was certain she would run into Thomas again th…

I’m no longer sure that freedom exists in writing. I even wonder if writing isn’t the domain of greatest alienation, in which the past and the horror of lived experience return. But on the other hand, the result, a book, can function as a means of freedom for others.

Evening. The terrible thing …