Not far off, on the little plaza in front of the Augarten, there were a few benches dotted with fallen autumn leaves. He went straight up to the first one and sat down. He picked up a newspaper lying at his feet, absent-mindedly read its title in the light of the streetlamp — Neues Wiener Journal — and threw it down again. Tomorrow morning at ten he would try to gain entry. Perhaps the nurse would make an exception in his case and let him in. Ah, the poor little mite! The newspaper at his feet rustled in the wind, and Gurdweill bent down instinctively to pick it up again. There was a kind of hidden connection between himself and this morning paper, which had already, as it were, given up the ghost. He felt obscurely that he needed it, without knowing why; and this obscurity began to madden him. Suddenly it dawned on him: to wrap up the blanket, of course. No! — he instantly resolved — he would buy a new, clean newspaper for the blanket, not this crumpled old paper lying on the ground. He rose to his feet and was about to pick up the blanket when he suddenly saw that it was not there. He was seized by horror. This loss was a bad omen. He began searching the ground around the bench feverishly. There was nothing there. Then he set off to retrace his steps to the hospital, walking toe to heel and stooping to scan the ground in all directions. And before long he found it. He was overjoyed, as if he had been granted a sign that from now on everything would be all right. He folded it up small and from now on he would hold it in his hand, not under his arm as before. He walked slowly back, passed the bench on which he had been sitting a few moments before, and glanced at the newspaper, which was still lying on the ground. What did he need this newspaper for? He was suddenly filled with inexplicable rage — he was going to buy a new one! But the nearby kiosk was closed, and at first he could not understand why. ‘It’s not a holiday today! Closing shops on an ordinary weekday — what a nerve!’ But then it occurred to him that the reason must be the lateness of the hour and, looking up at the illuminated clock on Nordwestbahnhof, he saw that it was half past seven. ‘In that case, no wonder!’ he said aloud, in explanation. And suddenly the full extent of his disaster came home to him, with the force of a revelation, and he felt as if a heavy object had struck him in the face. He turned around and began rushing back, as if he might still be in time to repair the damage if he hurried. But he did not run like this for long. Suddenly he stopped in his tracks, as if realising the pointlessness of his haste. He looked around him and saw that he was standing right next to the same bench again. He bent down and picked up the newspaper, sat down on the bench, and began wrapping the blanket in it.