(excerpt) Manfred, says Lida, Cain, says Lida, and through a word he remembers Byron. It is fashionable these days to fall in love with Byronic boys. Ananasova was not the only one who sang them. I think: Marquis, this is not about you, de Sade, not about us, Marquis, honey. We had such Justines, of both sexes, in batches, if only one would be protected. Lida, blinded, writes: eternal moments are when God, having paused in creation, went away to smoke. It remains to understand whether our world hangs in a gallery, or abandoned, unrecognized, somewhere in the attic. God, says the Marquis, is angry, there is no God above us. Just like there is no father and never was. Contains obscene language.