It tightens the pure white marble, raises its head... Again the same. Two eyes, one mouth, one nose, artistically placed, by some sadistic lover of beauty. Whose are they? Whose are these? It does not know, it does not recognize them. No - no, it is not me. I am not her... Again the same panic. Sweet... The heartbeat unceasing. The sweat... This familiar anxiety, that breaks her spine, that keeps her standing. She closes her eyes, but she cannot easily say her words. She hasn't slept in three months, and why is that?... Because whenever she lay down, such panic seized her with herself, that she was afraid to get up, lest she might see it and die of fear. And she was afraid to sleep, in case she succeeded, and died of fear...