Чума

           "But,bitbybit,theygaveupadvertisingofanysort,becausethecustomerswereobligedtocome.Moreover,thecustomersarehappytospend.Finewines—orallegedlyfineones—andthemostexpensivesupplementstothemenuaresnappedupinafranticrush.Italsoseemsthatscenesofpanicbrokeoutinonerestaurantbecauseacustomerfeltunwell,wentpale,staggeredtohisfeetandrushedoutofthedoor.

           "Aroundtwoo’clockthetowngraduallyemptiesandthisisthemomentwhensilence,dust,sunandplaguemeetinthestreet.Theheatpoursrelentlesslyalloverthegreatgreyhouses.Thesearelonghoursofimprisonmentwhichendinblazingeveningsbreakingoverthepopulous,chatteringcity.Duringthefirstdaysofhotweather,occasionally,nooneknowswhy,theeveningsweredeserted.Butnowthefirstcoolairbringswithitasenseofrelaxation,evenofhope.Soeveryonecomesdownintothestreets,theydeafeneachotherwithtalk,argueorlustafteroneanother—andthetown,undertheredJulysky,filledwithcouplesandnoise,driftstowardsbreathlessnight.Invain,everyeveningontheboulevards,acrankyoldman,wearingafelthatandalargetie,walksthroughthecrowdrepeatingendlessly:"Godisgreat,cometoHim"—whileeveryoneisrushing,onthecontrary,towardssomethingthattheyareunawareof,butwhichseemstothemmoreurgentthanGod.Atthebeginning,whentheythoughtthatitwasasicknesslikeanyother,religionhaditsplace.