My armchair was dancing a mad dance. … Only then, and even then with difficulty, I tore myself away from the page, turned my head in the direction of the newcomers (how difficult it is to play a foul game!). In front of all was S- , morose, silent, swiftly drilling with his eyes deep shafts within me, within my armchair and within the pages which were twitching in my hands. Then for a second—familiar, everyday faces at the door; one of them separated itself from the rest with its bulging, pinkish-brown gills. …
At once I recalled everything that happened in the same room half an hour ago and it was clear to me that they would presently. …
All my being was shriveling and pulsating in that fortunately opaque part of my body with which I was covering the manuscript. U- came up to S- , gently plucked his sleeve and said in a low voice:
“This is D-503 , the builder of the Integral . You have probably heard of him. He is always like that, at his desk; does not spare himself at all!”
… And I thought! … What a dear, wonderful woman! …
S- slid up to me, bent over my shoulder toward the table. I covered the lines I had written with my elbow but he shouted severely:
“Show us at once what you have there, please!”
Dying with shame, I held out the sheet of paper. He read it over, and I noticed a tiny smile jump out of his eyes, jump down his face and slightly wagging its tail, perch upon the right angle of his mouth. …
“Somewhat ambiguous, yet. … Well, you may continue; we shall not disturb you any more.”
He went splashing towards the door as if in a ditch of water. And with every step of his I felt coming back to me my legs, my arms, my fingers—my soul again distributed itself evenly over my whole body; I breathed. …