The office boy was tying up the day’s packages in the twilight coolness of the empty office. ‘What a thunderclap!’ the cruel bandit said to no one, in the loud voice of a ‘Good morning!’ My heart started beating again. The apocalypse had passed. There was a respite.

And with what relief – a flashing light, a pause, the hard clap – did this now near, then retreating thunder relieve us of what had been. God had ceased. My lungs breathed heavily. I realized it was stuffy in the office. I noticed that there were other people besides the office boy. They had all been silent. I heard something crisp and tremulous: it was one of the Ledger’s large and heavy pages that Moreira, checking something, had abruptly turned.