The house where I live. At the entrance O- stopped and began:

“No! You promised, did you not, that.⁠ ⁠…”

I did not let her finish. Hastily I pushed her through the entrance and we found ourselves in the lobby. At the controller’s desk⁠—the familiar, hanging, excitedly quivering cheeks, a group of Numbers around. They were quarreling about something, heads bending over the banisters on the second floor; they were running downstairs one by one. But about that later. I at once drew O-90 into the opposite, unoccupied corner and sat down with my back to the wall. I saw a dark large-headed shadow gliding back and forth over the sidewalk. I took out my notebook. O-90 in her chair was slowly sinking as if she were evaporating from under her unif, as if her body were thawing, as if only her empty unif were left, and empty eyes taking one into the blue emptiness. In a tired voice: