are here the logical steps? Why did it flash by, why at that particular moment? Whence did it come, and whither does it swim? . . .
My reader, I warn you against psychological authors!
Nine o’cloek. Jiří raised his head a little from his white feather bed, and looked with a sleepy eye at the green shade, through which the thin sunbeams burst into the room like rods of gold. He glanced at the cage where a canary was just then dipping its bushy head into its bathtub. Then he yawned loudly and looked at the ceiling, and at the lamp, around which tiny flies were whirling and softly buzzing.
Suddenly there flashed through his brain this picture, just this picture: he saw the maiden with unbraided blonde hair looking into the lamplight: “I do not think, and there is no time for such foolishness as thinking.” The picture disappeared.
Another scene. The dissolute old man
