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women lay in bed with no sheets and no nightie but with scarlet red lips, you saw them wandering about with nothing but a blanket over their shoulders, but with scarlet red lips. i saw a woman dead on the post mortem table and clutched in her hand was a piece of lipstick.
las mujeres estaban en la cama sin siquiera camisón pero con los labios escarlatas y las veías vagando sin nada más que una sabana en sus hombros, pero con los labios escarlata.
he would sleep in fred’s or ruth’s bed, which later appeared monstrous to ruth. her nightie, still a child’s pale, crumpled nightie; the smell of alcohol wafting off him; her nausea and her certainty that it was impossible to creep past his bed in the dark and open the window; her fear and his snoring, which she often listened to for minutes, waiting for a suitably long interruption so that she could fall asleep again – she remembered all of that as she walked over to the other cemetery.
su camisón –un camisón, descolorido, sin planchar, aún infantil– y el olor a alcohol de uwe, las náuseas, la convicción de que sería imposible para ella deslizarse junto a la cama de él hasta la ventana y abrirla, el miedo de ella y los ronquidos de uwe, que ella se quedaba escuchando mientras esperaba una interrupción suficientemente larga para volver a dormirse.