I stopped for a second at the door. He was stamping upward, here. If only the door.⁠ ⁠… I prayed to the door but it was a wooden one⁠—It squeaked, it squealed. Like a wind something red passed my eyes, something green, and the yellow Buddha. In front of the mirror-door of the cupboard, my pale face; my ears still following those steps, my lips.⁠ ⁠… Now he was already passing the green and yellow, now he was passing Buddha, now at the doorsill of the bedroom.⁠ ⁠…

I grasped the key of the cupboard; the ring oscillated. This oscillation reminded me of something. Again a conclusion, a naked conclusion without premises; a conclusion, or to be more exact, a fragment of one: “Now I-330 is.⁠ ⁠…” I brusquely opened the cupboard and when inside in the darkness shut the door firmly. One step! The floor shook under my feet. Slowly and softly I floated somewhere downward; my eyes were dimmed⁠—I died!