When we came back to the
entrance a gentleman stood there and took off his hat and she bowed, and
she said to me: Till next time. I said quickly: When? Tomorrow?
Perhaps, she called back. . . . Only perhaps, perhaps, oh I wish it were
to-morrow already.
November 13th. Inspee declares that her name is Anastasia Klastoschek.
I'm sure it can't be true that she has such a name, she might be called
Eugenie or Seraphine or Laura, but Anastasia, impossible. Why are there
such horrid names? Fancy if she is really called that. Klastoschek,
too, a Czech name, and she is supposed to come from Moravia and to be 26
already; 26, absurd, she's 18 at most. I'm sure she's not so much as
18. Dora says she lives in Phorusgasse, and that she doesn't think her
particularly pretty. Of course that's rank jealousy; Dora thinks no one
pretty except herself.
November 14th. I asked the woman at the pay box, her name really is
Anastasia Klastoschek and she lives in the Phorusgasse; but the woman
didn't know how old she is. She would not tell me at first but asked why
I wanted to know and who had sent me to enquire. She wouldn't look into
the book until I told her that it was _only for myself_ that I wanted to
know. Then she looked, for I knew the number of the cloak room locker:
36, a lovely number, I like it so much. I don't really know why, but
when I hear anyone say that number it sounds to me like a squirrel
jumping about in the wood.
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