Ingrid Van Munster (FR)

Through a door come bags of clay and of crushed rocks, and some jars of metallic oxide. In the potter’s cave, a gas kiln bubbles, and some tools are hanging on the wall where a tap burbles. With a wicked laugh, I take a piece out of the kiln. No, it’s wrong! I hold my breath. Please let the other one be good. And this is gold for philosophising.

18. L’échoppe des arts

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