The tentative snout of M. appears from the entrance to his dwelling. There it remains perfectly still, for he is listening with care. His eyes do not turn a fraction in their sockets. Only when, later, his head is finally half-emerged, does he turn slow checks about himself with eyes that are small, black, and unnaturally round. (Whenever he does this, he is oblivious to the hang of his mouth which drops slightly open and allows his neighbours to blame him with a slight idiocy which in fact he doesn't suffer from.)
Three of his neighbours, women wearing house-clothes, are standing outside an open door opposite him, the largest of whom stands with one foot turned onto its toe, and rests her forearm on the shoulder of her friend. They are watching him quite openly and show no discretion at all. M. retreats into his dwelling, stepping backwards and feeling his way behind him with searching fingers, in order to keep his eyes on these women until he can close the door at last. He had come out because he'd thought he'd heard something outside that he wasn't used to; something threatening perhaps. But it had been nothing.
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