“You look abnormal and ill, dear. Abnormality and illness are the same thing. You are killing yourself. And no one would tell you that, no one!”

That “No one” was certainly equivalent to the number on the stub⁠— I-330 . This thought was confirmed by an inkblot which fell close to the figure 330. Dear, wonderful U- ! You are right, of course. I am not reasonable. I am sick. I have a soul. I am a microbe. But is blooming⁠—not a sickness? Is it not painful when the buds are bursting? And don’t you think that spermatozoa are the most terrible of all microbes?