I-330 !⁠ ⁠… This I- irritates me, repels me. She almost frightens me; but just because of that I answered, “Yes.”

In five minutes we were in an aero. Blue sky of May. The light sun in its golden aero buzzed behind us without catching up and without lagging behind. Ahead of us a white cataract of a cloud. Yes, a white cataract of a cloud nonsensically fluffy like the cheeks of an ancient cupid. That cloud was disturbing. The front window was open; it was windy; lips were dry. Against one’s will one passed the tongue constantly over them and thought about lips.

Already we saw in the distance the hazy green spots on the other side of the Wall. Then a slight involuntary sinking of the heart, down⁠—down⁠—down, as if from a steep mountain, and we were at the Ancient House.