Now the three of us were making Persona on Faro.

Bibi had a premonition of what would happen, and she spoke to me sternly but completely in vain. I looked at her from the distant heaven where I resided in my capacity as the first woman on earth who loved and was loved.

In the evenings we took walks along the beach—Bibi, Sven Nykvist, the photographer, Ingmar and I. In spite of her warnings, Bibi’s girlfriend loyalty won out and she would turn toward Sven and shout, “Race you home.” Sven had to run along the beach evening after evening, in mild wonder at Bibi’s enormous and sudden energy.

While Ingmar and I followed slowly.