And suddenly she seemed to shrink, and became quite small, smaller than the palm of my hand, although she still looked just the same. I seized a pillow, put her in a corner of it, pressed down another corner with my fist, and placed her there, then I took her nightcap, folded it in four, and covered her up to the head with it. She lay there still just the same. Then I extinguished the candle and placed her under my beard. Suddenly I heard her voice from the comer of the pillow: “Lëva, why have I become porcelain?” I did not know what to reply. She said again: “Does it make any difference that I am porcelain?” I did not want to grieve her, and said that it did not matter. I felt her again in the dark⁠—she was still as before, cold and porcelain. And her stomach was the same as when she was alive, protruding upwards⁠—rather unnatural for a porcelain doll. Then I experienced a strange feeling. I suddenly felt it pleasant that she should be as she was, and ceased to feel surprised⁠—it all seemed natural. I took her out, passed her from one hand to the other, and tucked her under my head. She liked it all. We fell asleep. In the morning I got up and went out without looking at her. All that had happened the day before seemed so terrible.