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Perhaps the steaming hotness of a soft wet towel helped her with some warm comfort. For once, she came to notice the purple rim, the fi shtail lines of her eyes. And the whites around her black eyeballs were bloodshot with lifeless yellow. Her hand touched her face from one cheek to the other in a pathetic way, as though he were touching her slowly with a disrespectful look. The general beauty of her features was no more than an unprotected self-portrait in a room of disuse. The roughness of her dry skin rubbed her palm with a noise that somewhat shook her. All these suddenly notable signs reminded her of a bittersweet dialogue, which had once been youthful but was now very depressing. It was a dialogue between her and her husband when their love was a fi refl y.

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