In his arms was I-330 , pale, her unif torn from shoulder to breast, red blood on white. She firmly held him round the neck, and he with huge leaps from bench to bench, repellent and agile, like a gorilla, was carrying her away upward.
As if it were in a fire of ancient days, everything became red around me. Only one thing in my head: to jump after them, to catch them. At this moment I cannot explain to myself the source of that strength within me, but like a battering-ram I broke through the crowd, over somebody’s shoulders, over a bench and I was there in a moment and caught R-13 by the collar:
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare, I say! Immediately—”
Fortunately no one could hear my voice, as everyone was shouting and running.
“Who is it? What is the matter? What—” R-13 turned around; his sprinkling lips were trembling. He apparently thought it was one of the Guardians.
“What? I do not want—I won’t allow—Put her down at once!”
But he only sprinkled angrily with his lips, shook his head and ran on. Then I … I am terribly ashamed to write all this down but I believe I must, so that you, my unknown readers, may make a complete study of my disease. … Then I hit him over the head with all my might. You understand? I hit him. This I remember distinctly. I remember also a feeling of liberation that followed my action, a feeling of lightness in my whole body.
I-330 slid quickly out of his arms.
“Go away!” she shouted to R- , “Don’t you see that he—? Go!”