The Lover: Notes

I started to be astonished by the beauty of words once I accepted the way Duras narrates. Time, space or even perspectives are all crossed, folded and broken, but it does not matter since the beauty is out of these dimensions.
WHEN SEE DESCRIBE THE BEAUTY OF BETTY FERNANDEZ:
She's slim, tall, drawn in India ink, an engraving. People stop and look in amazement at the elegance of this foreigner who walks along unseeing. Like a queen. People never know at first where she's from. And then they think she can only be from somewhere else, from there, Because of this she's beautiful. She's dressed in old European clothes, scraps of brocade, out-of-date fox furs, old otterskins, that's her kind of beauty, tattered, chilly, plaintive and in exile, nothing suits her, everything's too big, and yet it looks marvelous. She's made in such way, face and body, that anything that touches her shares immediately and infallibly in her beauty.
THE NIGHT PARTYS OF THE LADY FROM SAVANNA KHET
So she's started giving evening parties again, the ones expected of her so that people can just meet occasionally and occasionally escape from the frightful loneliness of serving in outposts upcountry, stranded amid checkered stretches of rice, fear, madness, fever, and oblivion.