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THE MAKROPOULOS SECRET

Pardon me—for having left you.

How are you feeling?

My head aches—desolately—abominably.

That will go away.

No, it never will go away. I’ve had it for two hundred years.

What?

Ennui. No, it isn’t that. It’s—oh, you people have no name for it. There’s no name for it in any tongue. Bombita used to talk about it, too—it’s terrible.

What is it?

I don’t know. Everything is so dull, empty and ordinary Are you all here? It seems as if you were not—as if you were things or shadows. What do you want me to do?