I sat there until I was sure she had left, and then went in, closed the veranda door, locked it, and went up to the bedroom. I kicked off my sandals and lay down. I thought about her having said: Oh Martin, and that she had stroked my cheek. After a while I slipped into a doze filled with images: changing landscapes I had not seen before, and of which there was nothing frightening, but which nevertheless filled me with such a strong feeling of unease or anxiety that I had to get out of bed and pace back and forth on the bedroom floor. It helped. It’s always helped. But I didn’t lie down again.