living and speaking, friendly or inimical, with the features sometimes twisted into a grimace,
sometimes infinitely beautiful, harmonious and noble.
And one morning, as I awoke out of such a dream, I suddenly realized who was the original of the picture, I recognized it.
It gazed at me in such a fabulously well-known way, and seemed to be calling my name.
It seemed to know me, like a mother, seemed to love me as if since the beginning of time.
With beating heart I stared at the paper, at the thick brown hair, at the half-womanly mouth,
the strong forehead with the wonderful brightness (it had dried that way of itself)
and more and more I felt in me the knowledge, the certainty of having somewhere met the original of the picture.
I sprang out of bed, placed myself in front of the face, and gazed at it from the closest proximity,
straight into the wide open, greenish, staring eyes, the right eye somewhat higher than the other.
And all at once this right eye twitched perceptibly, but still decidedly, and from this twitching I recognized the picture....
How was it that I had found it out so late? It was Demian’s face.
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