He took a few sips of coffee, put his cup down, and continued. ‘There was a bloke in the military hospital — believe me, he could read three books a day! He lay next to me for two months, his leg was smashed up too, full of shrapnel, and I’m telling you, Herr Gurdweill, without any exaggeration, he must have read a thousand books! It was that Sister Steffie who always brought them to him. Once I said to her, “Tell me, Sister Steffie, why don’t you bring me one of those books too? I want to see what it’s all about.” So she brought me one. It was called An Out-of-the-Way House or something like that, I couldn’t swear to it — but the long and the short of it is, I read two pages and, believe me, that was quite enough! I couldn’t take another word of it. But my neighbour gobbled it up in one afternoon and licked his lips into the bargain! “What’s it about?” I asked him. “What are they all on about? I want to know too, for once!” And all he could say was: “Oh, it’s so beautiful, it’s so beautiful! You have to understand!” But what is there to understand, Herr Gurdweill, I ask you? What? You’re a clever man, please explain to me, who on earth cares if somebody or other wants to marry some woman and then he marries her or doesn’t marry her? Or if somebody else is a thief and cheats people on the sly and in the end he’s caught, or he’s never caught at all? Tell me, why should anyone be interested? Am I right or aren’t I?’

Gurdweill smiled in embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say. For a moment the kind of book in question seemed slightly ridiculous to him too. At that moment he felt like a man who has suddenly found himself among savages who have never seen a civilised person before, and they look him up and down and poke him all over as if he were the savage, not they.