Only it had been foreordained that all unmarried
women who held conversation with men would go to hell. Scraps of her
catechism recurred to her remembrance. Ah, if one only knew for certain,
but, alas, one was sure of nothing; nobody ever brought back any
information, and then, truly, it would be stupid to bother oneself
about things if the priests were talking foolishness all the time.
Nevertheless, she religiously kissed her medal, which was still warm
from contact with her skin, as though by way of charm against death,
the idea of which filled her with icy horror. Muffat was obliged to
accompany her into the dressing room, for she shook at the idea of being
alone there for one moment, even though she had left the door open. When
he had lain down again she still roamed about the room, visiting its
several corners and starting and shivering at the slightest noise. A
mirror stopped her, and as of old she lapsed into obvious contemplation
of her nakedness. But the sight of her breast, her waist and her thighs
only doubled her terror, and she ended by feeling with both hands very
slowly over the bones of her face.
"You're ugly when you're dead," she said in deliberate tones.
And she pressed her cheeks, enlarging her eyes and pushing down her jaw,
in order to see how she would look.
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