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surrounded by a branch in blossom; three horses’
heads (trijugum) project from the moon; above
is a branch of laurel; beneath three pillars; on
the right hand, a bell out of which flowers
appear; a wheel like a sun, etc.
August 13th.—The day announced by the clock
on the Boulevard St. Michel has arrived. I wait
for something to happen, but in vain; none the
less, I am certain that somewhere something is
happening, the result of which I shall hear in
a short time.
August 14th.—On the street I pick up a leaf
out of an old office calendar; in large type there
is printed on it “August 13th” (the same date
which was on the clock). Underneath in smaller
type is a sentence, “Do nothing secretly which
thou canst not do also openly.”
August 15th.—A letter from my wife. She
bewails my lot; she still loves me, and with our
child is waiting for a change in the melancholy
situation. Her parents, who formerly hated me,
are full of sympathy for my sufferings, and what
is more, they invite me to visit my little angel of
a daughter, who lives with her grandparents in
the country. That calls me back to life. My
child, my daughter is more than my wife. Only
to think of embracing the harmless, innocent
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