‘Besides,’ and his voice became deaf-only thee I confess. The women love make me think of the misery of our existence, the inevitable end in death. Since I live emancipated from his deceptive seductions, I feel happier, more confident of myself naively joy of the moment happens … I do not want to tell you about the physical embarrassment of those bodies which aim to deify, the monthly or daily impurities that cause them to suffer life with its demands. Women are less healthy than men. Nature has willed it so. Let not the cares of modern hygiene, and is a filthy beast, corroded by dirt inside … But that’s not what makes me run away from it.

He paused, then added little sadly:

I can not stand by a woman without meeting with the image of death. When I stroke your hair silky, tripping over a polished skull, hard, yellow, such as hovering at ground in abandoned cemeteries. A kiss on the mouth, biting the chin, make me see the jaw bone with teeth, almost equal to that of apes which are in museums. The eyes will die, the funny nose and windows alillas dissolve equally rosy, the only thing certain is solid black river and the grotesque chatez of the skull. Perky breasts are nothing more than simple tumor deceptive funeral mask the ribbing cage, the legs that seem adorable columns are water and scraps that will dissolve, exposing two long pipes of lime. We worship the supreme beauty, and embraces a skeleton. We are horrified by the image of death, and every woman has inside, forcing us to worship.

Castro was now looking with eyes of wonder. “It’s crazy,” his eyes seemed to say, look at the prince.