If i have to recollect one segment, from that mess of dense and blurry images, it is that black maid, wearing the formal old fashioned outfit, black and white with heavy undulating stripes of fabric sewed on the chest, she could have been sixty years old, or whatever, with round and reassuring cheeks, a small and jovial head, quite diformed like a potato, stuck on a fragile neck, showing a weak complexion and real affliction for the misery when it strikes, her hair dragged backwards and held by a crown made of the same white fabric, she watches sideways, a close up on her profile, and she had the most striking voice for me, soft, filled with kindness and innocence, the naivety and uneducation of a little girl, and that contrast so peculiar made me feel a brief well-being as i noticed for myself the beautiful in it.