“It’s clear that you want to seem original. But is it possible that you—?”
“It is clear,” interrupted I-330, “that to be original means to stand out among others; consequently to be original means to violate the law of equality. What was called in the language of the ancients ‘to be common’ is with us only the fulfilling of one’s duty. For—”
“Yes, yes, exactly,” I interrupted impatiently, “and there is no use, no use....”
She came near the bust of the snub-nosed poet, lowered the curtains on the wild fire of her eyes and said, this time I think she was really in earnest, or perhaps she merely wanted to soften my impatience with her, but she said a very reasonable thing:
“Don’t you think it surprising that once people could stand types like this? Not only stand them but worship them. What a slavish spirit, don’t you think so?”
“It’s clear ... that is...!” I wanted ... (damn that cursed “it’s clear!”).
“Oh, yes, I understand. But in fact these were rulers stronger than the crowned ones. Why were they not isolated and exterminated? In our State—”
“Oh, yes, in our State—” I began.
Suddenly she laughed. I saw the laughter in her eyes. I saw the resounding sharp curve of that laughter, flexible, tense like a whip. I remember my whole body shivered. I thought of grasping her ... and I don’t know what.... I had to do something, mattered little what; automatically I looked at my golden badge, glanced at my watch,—ten minutes to seventeen!
“Don’t you think it is time to go?” I said in as polite a tone as possible.