"Was I born to be all I am, and fore-destined to do all I have done?
Was she born an angel and I a devil from hell?
What is it all?
What is this life, and what is that other beyond it ?" Behind her, in his chair, the Wanderer still slept.

Still his face wore the radiant look of joy that had so suddenly come into it as she turned away.

He scarcely breathed, so calmly he slept.

But Unorna did not raise her head nor look at him, and on the carpet near her feet Israel Kafka lay as still and as deeply unconscious as the Wanderer himself.

By a strange destiny she sat there, between the two men in whom her whole life had been wrecked, and she alone was waking.
When she at last raised her eyes the dawn was breaking.