… The door is slightly ajar, and the light from the corridor, penetrating through the crack, diffuses softly, flashing in glints… The gilding of book bindings, picture frames, a brass ashtray beside the armchair, some shiny objects on the desk. The door opens a little wider, and a figure appears in the doorway. A long shadow falls across the carpet. Somewhere one can hear the measured ticking of an old clock, though everything is frozen in the silence of the night. The shadow wavers, then takes a step. Now its uneven breathing can be heard, like that of a person gripped by fear.