She slips on a camisole and a jacket,--a spectral vision of garments which unfold themselves about her handle-like arms, and above the hollow framework of her shoulders.
She talks to herself while she dresses, and gradually all my life-history, all my past comes forth from what the poor woman says,--my only near relative on earth; as it were my mother and my servant.
She strikes a match.

The lamp emerges from the dark and zigzags about the room like a portable fairy.

My aunt is enclosed in a strong light.
Her eyes are level with her face; she has heavy and spongy eyelids and a big mouth which stirs with ruminated sorrow.

Fresh tears increase the dimensions of her eyes, make them sparkle and varnish the points of her cheeks.

She comes and goes with undiminished spleen.