Outside, a grey, tired day was breaking. Something was growing lighter, filtering into the space trapped between the walls and pushing the darkness aside. One by one the streetlamps went out. The area around the railway station was beginning to come to life. And Gurdweill’s mind, too, began to clear, and even to produce a good idea: the cafés were opening, he had a little money left — he would have a cup of coffee and warm himself at the same time. This encouraging idea gave him new strength, and he crossed the road briskly in the direction of a small workmen’s café. It was already nearly seven o’clock; there were only two hours left before Thea went to her office.

In the café he seated himself unobtrusively in a corner and ordered black coffee. Black coffee, he said to himself, would keep him awake. A few workmen were having breakfast. Not far from him sat a poor woman of about forty, with a sharp red nose and rather thin, wispy auburn hair. From time to time she raised her eyes from the rolls she was noisily and hungrily devouring to cast a glance at Gurdweill. Perhaps she was the woman who had shared his bench in the Hauptallee — the thought flashed through his mind. It was not at all improbable … Well, what difference did it make!