The Stranger

I felt as I hadn’t felt for ages. I had a foolish desire to burst into tears. For the first time I’d realized how all these people loathed me.

I drank the coffee, and then I wanted a cigarette. But I wasn’t sure if I should smoke, under the circumstances—in Mother’s presence. I thought it over; really, it didn’t seem to matter, so I offered the keeper a cigarette, and we both smoked.

Since we’re all going to die, it’s obvious that when and how don’t matter.

Still, I had an idea he looked annoyed, and I said, without thinking: “Sorry, sir, but it’s not my fault, you know.”

I agreed it wasn’t a bad plan; it would punish her, all right.

Every time there’s a death here, they’re in a nervous state for two or three days

It was such a new experience, being a focus of interest; in the ordinary way no one ever paid much attention to me.

A few minutes later one of the women started weeping. She was in the second row and I couldn’t see her face because of another woman in front. At regular intervals she emitted a little choking sob; one had a feeling she would never stop

For a moment I had an absurd impression that they had come to sit in judgment on me.

Never in my life had I seen anyone so clearly as I saw these people; not a detail of their clothes or features escaped me. And yet I couldn’t hear them, and it was hard to believe they really existed.