Cincinnatus did not sleep, did not sleep, did not sleep – no, he was asleep, but with a moan scrambled out again – and now again he did not sleep, slept, did not sleep, and everything was jumbled – Marthe, the executioner’s block, her velvet – and how will it turn out … which will it be? A beheading or a tryst? Everything merged totally, but he did open his eyes for just one more wink when the light went on and Rodion entered on tiptoe, took the catalogue in its black binding from the table, went out, and it became dark.
