I scarcely even seemed to have time for meals. From dawn to dusk an irresistible urge towards physical activity shackled me to my workbench. I finished the cameo; Miriam received it with a childlike delight. I have also repaired the letter I in the Book of Ibbur. I leant back in my chair, relaxing by reviewing all the little events of these days in my mind. On the morning after the great storm, the old woman who looks after me came rushing into the room with the news that during the night the stone bridge had collapsed. Collapsed … strange! Perhaps at the very moment when I had knocked the seeds … no, no, I must not entertain the thought. It might give the events of that night a veneer of rationality, and I had decided to bury them deep in my breast until they awoke of their own accord. Leave well alone! How long ago was it that I had crossed the bridge and looked at the stone statues? And now, after standing for centuries, it was in ruins. I felt almost sad at the idea that I would never set foot on it again.
