While Jonathan lay on his deathbed in his parents' house, his bluish red rope burns and strangulation bruises covered with a fresh garland of carnations, purple and aromatic, from the garden, and his corpse had turned wax-yellow and his fingernails blue, his mother, in a black dress, kept vigil through the night, near the two candles that lit up his face to the left and right of the sofa, never once closing her eyes.
-Josef Winkler
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