And already the same aging stars, afraid of oblivion, were breathing down their necks, snapping, weaving intrigues, climbing over each other’s heads. That is, for show, for the camera, they lisped, licked, called each other diminutively, and demonstrated the most tender friendship and various other hugs and smacks and smacks. But in fact, given the opportunity, they would pounce with pleasure and bite each other, like snakes in a serpentarium. But what is worldly glory? Thousands of rotting, five-minute dead men clap their hands and exalt another rotting, five-minute dead man.