You go, without haste, and your life goes on like a dream.

While here everything is enveloped in a gray, dead fog, and we are foolishly struggling about in it, yearning for freedom and light.

There below they have started to sing something in scarcely audible voices; it was half song, half prayer.

Again someone is shouting, scolding.

And still they seek the way: "Seven and a half.