The glaring light falls on the face of his acquaintance. Martin can see it is still tense with anxiety.

‘What’s the matter?’ asks Martin.

‘I met the van.’

So did I, Martin was about to say, but stopped himself. Something warned him not to. He must pretend he did not meet the van and go on walking calmly. It is as if you must be guilty before you can be collected by it, otherwise you’re in a poor way.

‘Oh, where?’

His acquaintance does not point. It is dangerous to point here; you never know who may be watching you. He merely makes a movement of his head in the right direction.

Martin would rather not have met him. He does not like meeting people. He can see that the fellow is going to say something teasing now that his sudden anxiety has retreated, softening his face once more.

‘Perhaps it was on its way to you,’ he says, smiling at Martin. ‘Lucky you weren’t home.’

Martin feels a wave of heat shoot through him.

‘Perhaps so,’ he answers stiffly.

‘Well, good night,’ says his acquaintance, and goes.

Martin is left burning with guilt. Then he goes down the side passage.

How stupid people are!

I’ll never know how to take them.

One should never bother one’s head with what they say, but still….

He hurries along to Anna’s room, which is here in this side passage. Someone rushes past him, his face distorted by the storm. He rushes past without a sound, he looks hunted. Martin shakes it off and knocks calmly, but with trembling fingers, on Anna’s door.

He knocks in the way they have agreed upon, so that she does not call out. He waits for a moment, then hears footsteps crossing the floor. She turns the key and opens the door.

She is beautiful, and in her long nightgown she is even more so, but he does not notice. Not now. Woman’s fragrance meets him, but he does not embrace her. He just stands uneasily in front of her.

‘Can you hear it cracking?’ he asks.

‘What are you doing here?’ is all she replies. ‘What’s come over you, Martin?’

She has the fragrance of a young woman. She is his woman. His hands treasure the memory of her body.

‘You must surely hear it all, you too!’ he says.

The storm is raging through the house. Through this room. Anna is so tired she is ready to drop because of this endless strain and all that comes with it. Yet she is fragrant. There are riches still in reserve. She only stares at Martin without answering.

‘What is it, Anna?’ he asks at last, already beginning to regret that he came here so blindly.

‘I ought to ask you that,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what’s the matter with you.’

He regrets this encounter, but now he is forced to say: ‘How do I strike you, then?’

‘Are you afraid?’ The words are out almost before she is aware of it or means to utter them. For she understands him so well that she knows she has guessed right.