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    Our neighbour is once again roaring his spoiled child. grey knocked prison walls still rattle on and on, shivering inside. The constant bombardment of nerve endings is unbearable. The dusty night is illuminated by the glittering hollyhocks of stars, lanterns, lantern-containers.

    The little boy searches hysterically, demandingly for the tire tracks of his missing bicycle, like a magic tricycle that could take him to the sky, but all he finds is a yellow aluminium floor scuffed to a parchment, an iron grid drilled into islands of panel elements! I'd console it with a handkerchief or a pleasantly sour gumdrop, just so that the lost earthly harmony can return, and blue, red, yellow, green,

    Delicate little taste-fruits, roll down her little throat Like tiny hands in my bag, gripping my bag with great grip! - But what I imagine, that the proud foundations of possible friendship may be laid, - I murmur to myself. - The little boy hysterically demands more - and more, and the neighbour; the orphaned young woman is still perplexed in the more playful questions of education, and bears the childish tyranny with gentle Joconda's horror!