Rolled up in your sheepskin you hear with a curse the loud distinct sounds, as it were counting them, while, through your sleep there creeps into your mind the insufferable thought that it will be the same tomorrow, and the day after tomorrow, and for years together, right on to the day of freedom. But when, one wonders, will that freedom be, and where is it? Meanwhile one must wake up; the daily movement and bustle begins⁠ ⁠… men dress and hurry out to work. It is true one can sleep for an hour at midday.