All the enormous, violent and atrocious gestures of Hortense are violated. Her solitude is the mechanism of her eroticism; her lassitude an amorous dynamic. Beneath the watchful eye of the child, there is her, and her summer; in numerous eras, she has been the ardent purifier of races. Her portal is always flung wide for every sorrow. In that place, the morality of the living is released bodily by her passionate acts. Oh—terrible shiver of new loves on the blood-soaked grounds—Find Hortence.