Out of rage, Sarita wrote a prose

As if taken over by some force, she flung herself out of her bed and ran to her desk.

“I am a dog shivering outside some mansion’s doors where a party is raging outside. I smell the food, hear the revelling, but I want no part of it. In fact, what I want is the warmth that is surely to be found inside, in some corner, some nook or cranny between the walls, which can really be found in any house, but still I’m sitting outside a mansion. I crave the elegant and the eloquent when really any place will do, but I not only want to belong but belong there within regality, within the finest of places. I know I won’t dine, or maybe take a bite, but I’m sitting outside the door wondering, and that is all I do.”