inexpensive acting school. Cousin Schulz was asked to look after her.

Mr. Schulz frequently was in the company of Cousin Liblichlein. He
took her to cabarets, read poetry, showed here his Bohemian digs,
introduced her to the literary cafe Kloesschen, went with her
hand-in-hand for hours through the streets at night, touched her,
kissed her. Miss Liblichlein was pleasantly dazed by all the new
things; soon it occurred to her that most of what she saw was not as
beautiful as she had once imagined. Right from the start she was
irritated that the director of the theater, the collegues, the
literati of the Cafe Kloesschen--all the people with whom she often
came in contact, found pleasure in touching her, caressing her hands,
pressing their knees against hers, looking directly at her without
shame. Even being touched by Schulz became burdensome to her.

To avoid hurting his feelings, as well as to avoid seeming provincial,
she seldom showed her discomfort. But once she struck him
vigorously on the face. They were in his room; he had just explained
the last lines of his poem, "Weariness." They were

The evening stands before my window, grey man!
It would be best if we went to sleep-Then he tried to remove her
blouse. Schulz was utterly stunned by the blow. He said, almost
weeping, that she must have noticed that he loved her. Moreover, he
was her cousin. She said that she didn't like someone opening her
blouse. Besides, he had torn off a button. He said that he could no
longer stand it. If one loved someone, one must yield to him. He
would try to lose himself with other women. She did not know what to
answer. Groaning, he thought: Oh, oh. She sat next to him
dejectedly.