EYES THAT SEE Two days have passed.

I get up, dress myself, and open my shutters.
It is Sunday, as you can see in the street.
I put on my clothes of former days.

I catch myself paying spruce attention to my toilet, since it is Sunday, by reason of the compulsion one feels to do the same things again.
And now I see how much my face has hollowed, as I compare it with the one I had left behind in the familiar mirror.
I go out, and meet several people.

Madame Piot asks me how many of the enemy I have killed.

I reply that I killed one.