Time has come, and the door has opened. Both there was no light, and there was no darkness. There was no that white
doctor, there was no corridor, a sentence, justice. Justice did not become! It is not present more! And it remained.
Chapter 3.
Minute it was motionless, touching itself for a neck, for a breast, for feet. It is live. Eyes gradually got used to darkness... And
here light was switched on. Anywhere. Fixtures was not, lamps - too. Perhaps it is its light? Or it? He has looked round. An
empty room, naked walls, a cold, stone floor. And they. Three guilty stood also motionlessly, looking around and without
trusting. Then the woman has bent and took in hands a knife. It lay directly before it. Before it too there was a knife, both
before the little girl, and before the Plenty. It has lifted a knife, has turned in hands. It would be too simple. Simply to kill itself.
Or to kill another, not to kill itself... Too logically. And it is too fair. But justice is not present more.
Adriana has nestled on the husband. Small holes on hands still ached, eyes have swelled up from tears, and in a shower the
chaos was established. Now she will die. Now this flexible man with thin lines, the mobile person and a stare will strike its
knife and all will be over. Or all is already terminated...
What to us to do, the Plenty? - She has irresolutely asked the husband, as if the little girl - the father.
To reconcile, - he has silently answered, looking at a knife.
If I do not want?
Then to struggle, - all as he has silently answered. The plenty about something thought, something strenuously thought.
At such moments at it equal lines on a forehead, such ideally equal always gathered... And such favourite...
The plenty did not wish to surrender. And at the same time it has already surrendered. He simply did not see an exit. What for
to be up against a blank wall? Especially, if it stone.
My name is Gordon, - has unexpectedly told the green-eyed man and has interrogatively looked at them.