“I cannot … without you. … I must not … without you. …” I said, or perhaps I only thought, I am not sure which, but I-330 heard.
“Yes, I know,” she said. Then, her hands still on my shoulders and her eyes not letting my eyes go, “Then … until tomorrow. Tomorrow at twelve. You remember?”
“No, it was postponed for a day. Day-after-tomorrow!”
“So much the better for us. At twelve, day-after-tomorrow!”
I walked alone in the dusky street. The wind was whirling, carrying, driving me like a piece of paper; fragments of the leaden sky were soaring, soaring—they had to soar through the infinite for another day or two. …
Unifs of Numbers were brushing my sides—yet I was walking alone. It was clear to me that all were saved but that there was no salvation for me. For I do not want salvation. …