Through the wall to my left a she-number before the mirror-door of the closet; she is hastily unbuttoning her unif. For a second, swiftly⁠—eyes, lips, two sharp, pink⁠ ⁠… the curtains fell. Within me instantly awoke all that happened yesterday and now I no longer know what I meant to say by “besides.⁠ ⁠…” I no longer wish to;⁠—I cannot. I want one thing. I want I-330 . I want her every minute, every second, to be with me, with no one else. All that I wrote about Unanimity is of no value; it is not what I want; I have a desire to cross it out, to tear it to pieces and throw it away. For I know (be it a sacrilege, yet it is the truth), that a glorious Day is possible only with her and only then when we are side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Without her the Sun of tomorrow will appear to me only as a little circle cut out of a tin sheet, and the sky a sheet of tin painted blue, and I myself⁠ ⁠… I snatched the telephone receiver.

“ I-330 , are you there?”