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           Inanycase,shouldanyonewishtohaveanaccuratenotionofthestateofmindoftheseparatedinourtown,onemustoncemoredescribethoseeternal,golden,dustyeveningswhichdescendedonthetreelesstownwhilemenandwomenpouredoutintoeverystreet.Because,oddly,whatroseatsuchtimestowardsthestillsunlitterraces,intheabsenceofthesoundsofvehiclesandmachinerythatusuallymakeupthelanguageoftowns,wasonlythevastnoiseoffootstepsandmuffledvoices,thepainfulgroanofthousandsofshoesmarchingtotherhythmofthepestilenceintheheavysky,anendlessandeventuallystiflingtramplewhichgraduallyfilledthewholetownandwhich,eveningafterevening,wasthemostfaithfulandmostmelancholyexpressionoftheblindobstinacywhichatthattimereplacedloveinourhearts.