I also had dreams in which my union with her was accomplished by way of allegory.
She was a sea, into which I, a river, flowed. She was a star, and I myself was a star on my way to her.
We felt drawn to one another. We met, and remained together always,
turning blissfully round one another in close-lying orbits, to the music of the spheres.
I related this dream to her, when I visited her again after the holidays.
“It is a beautiful dream,” she said softly. “See that it comes true!”
There came a day in early spring that I shall never forget.
I entered the hall. A window stood open and the heavy scent of hyacinths, wafted by a warm breath of air, permeated the room.
As no one was to be seen, I went upstairs to Max Demian’s study.
I knocked softly on the door and entered without waiting for permission, as I was in the habit of doing with him.
The room was dark. The curtains were all drawn. The door to a little room adjoining stood open, where Max had set up a chemical laboratory.
From there came the bright, white light of the spring sun, shining through rain clouds.
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