Eva The Fugitive - pg. 60

Life comes in large gusts of air, and one is drawn into the dance. I see that her country is filled with fiery cities, large factories, trains in the throes of panic, streets teeming with people, etc. I see her pass with her head bowed, still in dream, but attentive to a rhythm that possesses her. "Eva in life!" I exclaim. Her solitude is sustained by a useless and frightening radiance we associate with drugs. It is possible that until love returns ... What can men do with an empty body? And she passes. Passes among people and things, withdrawn into herself.