Christine was sitting in the living room, climbing with her legs on a large leather chair. Her cheeks were burning, her eyes wandered aimlessly or thoughtfully froze, resting on one point. She continually sighed somehow hard, as if she really didn’t have enough air, and sometimes began to unconsciously pull at a light curl that had come out of a sloppy homemade hairstyle. A huge vintage Goethe volume with gilded page edges and copies of old engravings, unveiled on ...