Translation of the page 35

–Stand up, – he says, – don’t roll around here on the floor, How does that look. And don’t cry. You’re not pretty when you cry, so don’t cry.–The tails of my nightgown just fluttered behind me, I ran off to re-powder my face and fix myself up and at once I was back in the kitchen, beaming, charming, and kind.........Mr. Devil, however, paid no attention to my entrance. He held a fateful bag in his arms and quickly inserted hardened, dried-out grapes into his mouth with his finger ------ he didn’t bite them, but swallowed them whole – and the expression on his face---- no, I can’t describe it, you would have had to see it..............His eyes gleamed like gems on a ring, oh, from his journey, he looked into his bag to see how many were left ----- and I, I watched him with my hands clasped together as if my life depended on it..... like a prayer....... with my head titled to the side, with a glint of happiness, the only real happiness....... (This writing is really working out for me !!! The man was right: Write, madam ! When I’m writing I feel ......... really, like when I’m cooking !!!! Men are always right and you can’t get away from that !)

When Mr. Devil had eaten everything, he inflated the bag and made it go bang! on his head, and when one last grape fell out of the bag as he smacked it down, he knelt down and took up crawling quick as lightning across the kitchen, exactly like a soldier, skillful like a quadruped – and when he finally found it under the table, he ate it up at once, he didn’t even blow any dust off it........

Such happiness is hard to forget, gentlemen.........

I fried some eggs, roasted some beef, added some peas with butter, etcetera etcetera – in short, when Mr. Devil had eaten everything – a frosty late morning outside the windows, occasional drifts of snow ¬– he stroked my face and prepared to leave.