I am a woman of art, a woman for love, a woman of mystery.  The one that can be dreamed of in the predawn time, when, even before the end of waking up, you don’t understand at all whether this is all happening in reality or in a dream.  But I am not the fruit of your dreams, I am the very thing that is not a real, living, quivering and trembling "work of art" in your hands.
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