To the questions posed by our reason are added others suggested by our reverie. This field is suitable for cultivation: why is it not cultivated? The house has no master. The doorway is walled up. What is wrong with this place? Why do men shun it? What is going on here? If nothing is going on, why is there no one here? When everyone is asleep is there anyone awake here? The sight of this house calls up images of dark and gloomy squalls, the wind, birds of prey, lurking animals, unknown beings. What wayfarers does this hostelry cater to?
