le rempart des béguines 1972
She was almost imploring me. I looked at her with disgust. On that face I had loved and admired so desperately, that had been my sun, my horizon, the very incarnation of beauty, cruetly, voluptuousness and suffering, all equally delicious, there was painted that odious humility of beggars and of beaten women, that cowardice of irresponsible people, that same weakness that I had hated in myself and that she, unknowningly, had taught me to hate. The Illusionist, Françoise Mallet-Joris