"Clare was sick| I sat for her whole evenings and, leaving, unchanging was every time late to the last train of underground passage and footed then from a street Raynouard to the area St. Michel, near that I lived. I went by the stables of Ecole Militaire| ringing of chains, on that horse, and thick horse smell so unusual for Paris| then I stepped on a long and narrow street Babylone, were tied, was heard from there, and at the end of this street in the shop-window of photo, in incorrect light of distant lanterns, the face of famous writer, all made from ramps| omniscient eyes under horny European glasses accompanied me half-quarter, looked on me - until I did not cross the black ablaze stripe of boulevard of Raspail. I reached, finally, to the hotel".