Thea stood up and stretched. She went over to the window and looked outside. In the shaft of light from the streetlamp, the snowflakes, which were much lighter than before, looked as if they were flying upwards. Apart from two windows on the fourth floor and one on the second, all the windows in the hotel were dark. It was obviously late. From the nearby railway station, a short whistle suddenly pierced the quiet, snowy night, first one and after a while another, and in the end a third, long and wailing. In Thea’s imagination a strange station flew past, the station of a remote little village where she had perhaps never set foot in her life, with an old priest standing in front of her in the line to buy a ticket. She moved away from the window and went up to her husband, who was still sitting in the same posture as before.

‘It’s getting chilly. Put on some more coal, rabbit.’

She bent over and scratched his nose as a sign of affection. Then she yawned lengthily and began to get undressed.

‘Come along, little rabbit, take off my stockings.’

Gurdweill shut the door of the stove after throwing in two shovelfuls of coal, and went to take off her stockings. Thea lay across the bed and thrust her foot towards her husband, who kneeled down on the floor. He pressed his lips to her thigh.

‘Hurry up!’ said Thea. ‘It’s cold.’ And then, as if to herself: ‘It must be interesting to seduce a little boy …’

‘What?’ The same stupid ‘What?’ escaped Gurdweill’s lips as on that first evening with Zushka.

‘Get undressed quickly, rabbit! You’re permitted to sleep with me tonight,’ said Thea, and slipped under the covers. ‘Bring me the cigarettes and matches!’

Gurdweill took his pile of bedclothes from the bed, set it down on the chair, and began to make up his bed on the couch. He spread his coat over the red, stain-spotted quilt, so that he would not be cold at night. Then he took off his clothes, put out the lamp, and got into his wife’s bed.

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