This without a synopsis, hastily, the last.
The day.
Quick, to the newspaper! perhaps there. … I read the paper with my eyes (exactly; my eyes now are like a pen, or like a counting machine which you hold and feel in your hands like a tool, something foreign, an instrument). In the newspaper on the first page, in large print:
“The enemies of happiness are awake! Hold to your happiness with both hands. Tomorrow all work will stop and all the numbers are to come to be operated upon. Those who fail to come will be submitted to the machine of the well-doer.”