"Well, well, well."

        Saying three wells in a row is just as mysterious as saying three hellos in a row, which is just like this:

        "Hello, hello, hello!"

        Have you ever meet Aimée, you cannot be any sorrier for her, as even she herself cannot tell the story of hers with much ease, but still I have to record down every single word she said in the last year of her life.

        I am Jéréme Lampadaire, a voluntary librarian of a grand, twenty-four-storeyed library. On the ground floor there are the entrance and the lobby which has six elevators, situated exactly at the six point of a hexagon, and in the middle of the hexagon a fountain can be found, and if you look upwards there at noon, your eyes may be struck by the sunlight that shine directly on the fountain and ask for compensation to see the optometrist and get a pair of glasses. Maybe you are now wondering either why there is a fountain in the library or why I am talking about the library instead of telling the tales of the adorable Aimée, but to both question I can answer neither of them, at least not now.

        "What a miserable midget you are!" said A.

        "I'm not a midget," said B.

        Someday it will become true, but before that, stop dreaming.

        Neither this way nor that way, just the way.