Freder groped his way across to the man. He stared at him. He could not see his face. How old was the man? A thousand years? Or not yet twenty? He was talking to himself with babbling lips. What was the man muttering about? And had this man, too, the face of Joh Fredersen’s son? “Look at me!” said Freder bending forward. But the man’s gaze did not leave the clock. His hand, also, was unceasingly, feverishly, clutching the lever. His lips babbled and babbled, excitedly. Freder listened. He caught the words. Shreds of words, tattered by the current of air. “Pater-noster ... that means, Our Father!... Our Father, which are in heaven! We are in hell. Our Father!... What is thy name? Art thou called Pater-noster, Our Father? Or Joh Fredersen? Or machine?... Be hallowed by us, machine. Pater-noster!... Thy kingdom come.... Thy kingdom come, machine.... Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.... What is thy will of us, machine, Pater-noster? Art thou the same in heaven as thou art on earth?... Our Father, which art in heaven, when thou callest us into heaven, shall we keep the machines in thy world—the great wheels which break the limbs of thy creatures—the great merry-go-round called the earth?... Thy will be done, Pater-noster!... Give us this day our daily bread.... Grind, machine, grind flour for our bread. The bread is baked from the flour of our bones... And forgive us our trespasses ... what trespasses, Pater-noster? The trespass of having a brain and a heart, that thou hast not, machine? And lead us not into temptation.... Lead us not into temptation to rise against thee, machine, for thou art stronger than we, thou art a thousand times stronger than we, and thou art always in the right and we are always in the wrong, because we are weaker than thou art, machine.... But deliver us from evil, machine.... Deliver us from thee, machine.... For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever, Amen.... Pater-noster, that means: ‘Our Father.... Our Father, which are in heaven....’” Freder touched the man’s arm. The man started, struck dumb. His hand lost its hold of the lever and leaped into the air like a shot bird. The man’s jaws stood gaping open as if locked. For one second the white of the eyes in the stiffened face was terribly visible. Then the man collapsed like a rag and Freder caught him as he fell. Freder held him fast. He looked around. Nobody was paying any attention, either to him or to the other man. Clouds of steam and fumes surrounded them like a fog. There was a door near by. Freder carried the man to the door and pushed it open. It led to the tool-house. A packing case offered a hard resting place. Freder let the man slip down into it. Dull eyes looked up at him. The face to which they belonged was little more than that of a boy. “What is your name?” said Freder. “11811....” “I want to know what your mother called you....” “Georgi.” “Georgi, do you know me?”