Themorningwashot，andtheexerciseofreadinglefthermindcontractingandexpandinglikethemain-springofaclock，andthesmallnoisesofmidday，whichonecanascribetonodefinitecause，inaregularrhythm。Itwasallveryreal，verybig，veryimpersonal，andafteramomentortwoshebegantoraiseherfirstfingerandtoletitfallonthearmofherchairsoastobringbacktoherselfsomeconsciousnessofherownexistence。
Shewasnextovercomebytheunspeakablequeernessofthefactthatsheshouldbesittinginanarm-chair，inthemorning，inthemiddleoftheworld。Whowerethepeoplemovinginthehouse——
movingthingsfromoneplacetoanother？Andlife，whatwasthat？
Itwasonlyalightpassingoverthesurfaceandvanishing，asintimeshewouldvanish，thoughthefurnitureintheroomwouldremain。Herdissolutionbecamesocompletethatshecouldnotraiseherfingeranymore，andsatperfectlystill，listeningandlookingalwaysatthesamespot。Itbecamestrangerandstranger。Shewasovercomewithawethatthingsshouldexistatall……Sheforgotthatshehadanyfingerstoraise……Thethingsthatexistedweresoimmenseandsodesolate……Shecontinuedtobeconsciousofthesevastmassesofsubstanceforalongstretchoftime，theclockstilltickinginthemidstoftheuniversalsilence。
“Comein，“shesaidmechanically，forastringinherbrainseemedtobepulledbyapersistentknockingatthedoor。Withgreatslownessthedooropenedandatallhumanbeingcametowardsher，holdingoutherarmandsaying: