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I don’t feel it coming, as I used to, this treacherous sleep, hidden beside me, that lies in wait for me, that is about to seize me by the head, close my eyes, annihilate me.
Who can understand my abominable anguish? Who can understand the emotion of a man, of a healthy mind, wide awake, full of reason, who looks through the glass of a carafe, terrified that a little water has disappeared while he slept.
you suddenly feel a premonition that the sickness has grown worse.
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