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 Number 60 received the news of my departure with undisguised lack of approval. In particular, the censorists were of the opinion that "it would have been time enough when we all went"; Papa Declich shook hands with me and did not say a word. He stood upon his straw mattress and gave a sly peep into the yard. But even these glances were in spite of himself,—something was astir in his soul, and he was sad.

It was in the afternoon during exercise. The engineer had already heard of my forthcoming departure,—for him it would mean a severe blow, he said,—now he would have nobody to talk to. I promised him that I would leave him my blanket, pillow, and some linen as a souvenir,–he thanked me with emotion in advance.

The censorists were sitting with me. It was getting dark. Mr. Fels was of the opinion that I ought to let the Ministry of War know what sort of a fellow Papritz was, and what kind of conditions prevailed there; Mr. Goldenstein would have liked to let his family have news about him privately, and asked whether I would undertake it; Mr. Fröhlich thought that if I were to write about the jail, I should certainly not mention their real names.

Mr. Wilder came up and described what restaurant he would go to and the food he would order, if there were any prospect of his departing within so short a time.

It was night. I woke up from my sleep. People were breathing, some snored. The light was shining on the ceiling.

Was everything that had happened in Frank's presence, my liberation, Madam M. L., this tomorrow or the day after,—was all this only a dream of mine.