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"'I looked for: everyone always busy' smiled Ernesto. This wine is good. Better not marry: she looks too lively, he looks too somber. It will be a brief love, not for a lasting marriage.

"'Publishers are always busy with new people, I know it well,' Arnoldo said in the meantime. 'Then ready to throw themselves like ravenous dogs on a story like yours. I want your book, immediately. I'll give it to the publisher and then you you will talk to him, with your head held high, you will talk about it, my word, and I can assure you that...'

"A sudden compact fog seemed to penetrate Ernesto's brain as words and sounds drifted away in confusion. With an effort he straightened up in his chair, cleared his throat. 'I'd like a glass of wine. Very cold," he said.

"How many people screaming, running, passing by with packages and suitcases. The lights seemed like big eyes lit in the night. Every now and then the hiss of a departing train.

"Stopped in the middle of the pavement, Martha waited. He had telephoned her to come immediately and bring the book. 'What happened?' she asked nervously. 

"'I have an appointment with a publisher.' 

"There had been some silence. Then: 'Did you say... editor?'

"'Yes, editor' and in spite of himself he heard pride in his voice.

"'Oh Ernesto' said Marta and seemed on the verge of tears. 'Ernesto, my love.'

"She would be here soon. With the book. Dear wife, how much you have always helped. 'Don't just look back. Look ahead.' Like the train. But the train always knows where it has to arrive. Until now, no. But now it's different. And tomorrow will be even more different. Here's the train. It slows down, screeches as it stops. Like everyone gets off in a hurry. Never as in a station all seem to have a sense of leaving...