The darkness of night descended upon her, and with it the fire of a burning shame.
Then a loud and cruel laugh rang through the chilly air, such a laugh as the devils in hell bestow upon the shame of a proud soul that knows its own infinite bitterness.

Unorna started and uncovered her eyes, her suffering changed in a single instant to ungovernable and destroying anger.

She made a step forwards and then stopped short, breathing hard.
The Wanderer, too, had turned, more quickly than she.

Between two tall gravestones, not a dozen paces away, stood a man with haggard face and eyes on fire, his keen, worn features contorted by a smile in which unspeakable satisfaction struggled for expression with a profound despair.
The man was Israel Kafka..