I rummaged through the drawers in search of a strong poison. I thought of nothing as I looked; I had to get it over with as quickly as possible. It was as if it were an everyday task I needed to do. All I could find were things of no use to me: buttons, string, thread of various colors, notebooks—all strongly redolent of naphthalene and none capable of causing a man’s death. Buttons, thread, and string—that is what the world contained at this most tragic of moments.