I woke up late, with a heavy head and a solid intent to see Vanderhuse in private right after breakfast and tell him everything. It seems to me, I never felt so unhappy in my entire life. It was all over for me, so I didn’t even bother with calisthenics, but simply took a fortified ionic shower and shuffled to the mess hall. On the threshold, I realized that last night, what with all my troubles, I forgot to give the cook instructions for breakfast, and that did me in completely. I mumbled some vague greeting and, feeling that I am red as a boiled lobster with pain and shame, I sat into my chair and desolately looked over the table, trying not to meet anyone’s gaze. The meal was, to put it mildly, reminiscent of a monastery. Everyone was having bread and milk. Vanderhuse salted his
