The dreary furnishings – some rickety rattan chairs, the wardrobe with its yellowed mirror, a dressing-table missing one corner – did not exist for him: habit had blurred everything. He moved through the ghost of a flat, which required no effort of him. In another room, he would have to grow accustomed to novelty, to struggle once again. He wanted to diminish the surface he offered the world, to sleep until everything was consumed.
