“Shroud... Black velvet shroud... Black velvet... The word did not leave the consciousness, it was annoyingly repeated again and again. “Shroud...” lips whispered against their will. - Black, certainly black, and, of course, velvet... - What have you done! – the Voice said dissatisfied. – This shroud was given to you! Act! It was lightly raining, it was almost completely dark, the street was deserted, only occasionally cars rushing along the asphalt to someone who knows where. “It’s time,” said the Voice. He tried to get rid of the word that had become attached, to throw it out of his head, but in vain. It was as if an invisible woodpecker was chiseling the inside of the skull. Shroud..."