A few days ago I met Ninochka, my neighbor on the ninth floor—a young, friendly woman. She works in a restaurant-grocery near our house and often serves me in an informal way, without making me stand in line. That day she had been waiting for me to return home by the entrance, on purpose, so we could talk about her cousin. He had problems, and Ninochka outlined them for me right away. He started suspecting his wife of cheating.