“Nothing in excess,” Algie repeated. “But one has to understand the meaning of excess. Why should it be taken, as it seems to be these days, to refer simply to self-indulgence, or violence—or enjoyment? Wasn’t it intended, don’t you think, to refer to all excesses—excess of pettiness, of timorousness, of officiousness, of sententiousness, of censoriousness? Excess of stinginess or rancor? Excess of bores?” Algie went back to his vegetables for a while, and Jaspersen was again surprised when he continued. “At the other end of that temple, there was a second inscription—‘Know Thyself.’ Didn’t mean—d’you think—that we should be mesmerized by every pettifogging detail of our composition. Meant we should understand ourselves in order to be free.” Algie laid down his knife and fork and pushed away his plate. He handed back to Jaspersen the Procedure of Appeal. “No thanks old boy, really. Fact is, I’m not suited to it here, and from that point of view these chaps are right. You tell me to get inside their minds—but if I did that I might never find my way out again.”

“But Algie, what about your pension? Think of the risk, at your age.”

“I do get something, you know—a reduced pension, or a lump sum. And then—for someone like me, the real risk is to stay.”

After that, they talked of other things. But Jaspersen felt disturbed and sad, and his sadness was greater than he could reasonably account for.

Lidia was coming down in the elevator when Millicent Bass got in. Lidia, on her way to the cafeteria, was pressed between a saintly Indian from Political Settlements (a department high on Algie’s list of contradictions in terms) and Swoboda from Personnel, who greeted her in Russian. Behind her were two young Africans, speaking French and dressed in Italian suits, a genial roly-poly Iranian, and a Paraguayan called Martinez-MacIntosh with a ginger moustache. In front of her was a young girl from the Filing Room, who stood in silence with her head bowed. Her pale hair, inefficiently swept upward, was secured by a plastic clip, so that Lidia had a close view of her slender, somewhat pathetic neck and the topmost ridges of her spinal column. The zipper of her orange wool-jersey dress had been incompletely closed, and the single hook above it was undone. Lidia was toying with the idea of drawing this to the girl’s attention when the elevator doors opened at the sixteenth floor to admit Millicent Bass.