He staggers out of the Bahnhof holding his head. There is a sense in which vertigo is almost pleasant. He staggers out into the street. Only at moments are his reactions touched by the finger of dread. He did not notice anything until he got up in the carriage. His journey had been long. The flat fields grew sugar beet. He staggers out of the Bahnhof. And now, how was he to find Fraulein Q? It is not unlike drunkenness, but purer. Vienna was not a city that he knew. It swims before him now. Tenses collapse or will collapse, myriad stucco greys blur to one tone. His head loses its taste for the vertical. He is quite alone. He staggers out of the Bahnhof, feeling oddly light. page 105He ignores the cabs, their steaming horses. Morning is crisp. This tall city is a field of swirling forces. His staggering indirection, does it spring from the brain, is it rooted in the soul, is it a fever? One could fall dead any time, any how. He staggers out of the cold Bahnhof. Low misted sun bars the busy street. Hawkers shout and prattle. Their cries run together. He fumbles at his watchchain, letting the vertigo take him where it wills. Shafts and harness rattle. Pot-pourri of smells. Coffee would serve the occasion. He staggers into a classy cafe and sits down. By the gilt-lettered window he is ringed with light. Head steadies: the world whirls.