The stockings were on the desk, on the open manuscript, on page 124. Being in haste I caught some of the pages and they were scattered over the floor so that it was hard to put them back in the proper order. Moreover, even if I put them in that order there will be no real order; there are obstacles to that anyway, some undiscoverable unknowns. "I can't bear it," I said, "You are here, near me, yet you seem to be behind an opaque ancient wall; through that wall I hear a rustle and voices; I cannot make out the words, I don't know what is there. I cannot bear it. You seem always to withhold something from me; you have never told me what kind of a place it was where I found myself that day beneath the Ancient House. Where did those corridors lead? Why was the doctor there,--or perhaps all that never happened?" I-330 put her hands on my shoulders and slowly entered deeply into my eyes. "You want to know all?" "Yes, I do." "And you would not be afraid to follow me anywhere? Wherever I should lead you?" "Anywhere!" "All right then. I promise you, after the holiday, if only.... Oh yes, there is your _Integral_. I always forget to ask; will it soon be completed?" "No. 'If only' what? Again! 'If only' what?" She, already at the door: "You shall see." I was again alone. All that she left behind her was a barely perceptible scent, similar to that of a sweet, dry, yellow dust of flowers from behind the Green Wall; also, sunk deeply within me, question marks like small hooks similar to those the ancients used for fishing (_vide_ the Prehistoric Museum). ... Why did she suddenly ask about the _Integral_? RECORD TWENTY-FOUR The Limit of the Function Easter To Cross Out Everything I am like a motor set in motion at a speed of too many revolutions per second, the bearings have become too hot and in one more minute the molten metal will begin to drip and everything will go to the devil. Cold water! Quick! Some logic! I pour pailfuls of it, but my logic merely sizzles on the hot metal and disappears in the air in the form of vapor. Of course it is clear that in order to establish the true meaning of a function, one must establish its limit. It is also clear that yesterday's "dissolution in the universe" taken to its limit is death. For death is exactly the most complete dissolution of the self in the universe. Hence: L=f(D), love is the function of death. Yes, exactly, exactly! That is why I am afraid of I-330; I struggle against her, I don't want.... But why is it that within me "I don't want to" and "I want to" stand side by side? That is the chief horror of the matter; I continue to long for that happy death of yesterday. The horror of it is that even now, when I have integrated the logical function, when it becomes evident that the latter contains death hidden in it, nevertheless I long for it with my lips, arms, breast, with every millimeter....