She spoke as though reading my thoughts but in her smile there remained always that irritating X. There behind the curtains something was going on, I don't know what, but something that made me lose my patience. I wanted to quarrel with her, to scream at her (exactly, to scream), but I had to agree. It was impossible not to agree. We stopped in front of a mirror. At that moment I saw only her eyes. An idea came to me: human beings are built as nonsensically as these stupid "apartments," human heads are opaque, and there are only two very small windows that lead inside,--the eyes. She seemed to have guessed my thoughts; she turned around: "Well, here they are, my eyes,--well" (this suddenly, then silence). There were in front of me two gloomy dark windows and behind them inside, such strange hidden life. I saw there only fire, burning like a peculiar "fireplace" and unknown figures resembling.... All this was certainly very natural; I saw in her eyes the reflection of my own face. But my feelings were unnatural and not like me. Evidently the depressing influence of the surroundings was beginning to tell on me. I felt definitely fear. I felt as if I were trapped and caged in a strange cage. I felt that I was caught in the wild hurricane of ancient life. "Do you know ..." said I-330, "step out for a moment into the next room." Her voice came from there,--from inside, from behind the dark window-eyes,--where the fireplace was blazing. I went out, sat down. From a shelf on the wall there looked straight into my face, somewhat smiling, a snub-nosed, asymmetrical physiognomy of one of the ancient poets; I think it was Pushkin. "Why do I sit here enduring this smile with such resignation and what is this all about? Why am I here? And why all these strange sensations, this irritating, repellent female, this strange game?" The door of the closet slammed; there was the rustle of silk. I felt it difficult to restrain myself from getting up and, and.... I don't remember exactly; probably I wanted to tell her a number of disagreeable things. But she had already appeared. She was dressed in a short bright-yellowish dress, black hat, black stockings. The dress was of light silk,--I saw clearly very long black stockings above the knees, an uncovered neck and the shadow between.... "It's clear that you want to seem original. But is it possible that you--?" "It is clear," interrupted I-330, "that to be original means to stand out among others; consequently to be original means to violate the law of equality. What was called in the language of the ancients 'to be common' is with us only the fulfilling of one's duty. For--" "Yes, yes, exactly," I interrupted impatiently, "and there is no use, no use...."