She lay there, her arms raised, her hands folded on top of her head, her eyes wide open, and observed how the grey-blue light penetrated into the room through the white-and-red-striped curtains, picking out the washstand, the two crude chairs and the tall yellow wardrobe in the gloom, illuminating the room without bringing it to life, without, as it were, waking it up. And it seemed to Doralice that this room, as small as a ship's cabin, was in no way connected to her.
-Eduard von Keyserling
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