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The old writer, like all of the people in the world,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], had got, during his long life, a great many notions in his head. He had once been quite handsome and a number of women had been in love with him. And then, of course,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], he had known people,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], many people, known them in a peculiarly intimate way that was different from the way in which you and I know people. At least that is what the writer thought and the thought pleased him. Why quarrel with an old man concerning his thoughts?
In the bed the writer had a dream that was not a dream. As he grew somewhat sleepy but was still conscious, figures began to appear before his eyes. He imagined the young indescribable thing within himself was driving a long procession of figures before his eyes.
You see the interest in all this lies in the figures that went before the eyes of the writer. They were all grotesques. All of the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques.