I looked grotesque, covered with lice and strange purple roses.
A hot bath would be just the thing! I was generous with patchouli
bath-oils, tossed in a brand new sponge from the Indian Ocean.
I slithered to its edge like a voluptuous serpent. Abandoning
myself, I leapt in a high arch, beautiful form throughout the ent-
tire movement. To my great astonishment there seemed to be no
bottom to this damned tub! I entered the scalding waters like a
fresh torpedo, arms stretched, head tucked, feet swept smoothly
back: slowly I spent my force, glided for some minutes like a
shark after a full meal in sleepy waters.
    I dried myself vigorously. Then, with considerable strain, I
lifted the tortoise-shell comb which had grown enormous over-
night, to my head perched high on the flagpole of my neck. If
I’d had any hair left the crush of the comb might have been soft-
ened. As it was, I was split perfectly down the middle, nose,
naval and penis in equal servings. I felt like a deer chasing a
mirage.
    There was a taste of honey on the razor blade, honey that
sucks bees.