Last nite I met a lady whom I shall never forget. Although I have forgotten her name. The moon was high and the stars were glittering when I called her name in the darkness of the night. Babushka I said and then I turned into a toad. As such I was cubic. Just as I had fancied. We left at the hour appointed and had scarcely touched the ground when a man, whom I recognise, started from behind a rock. On seeing me he let himself drop, stopped and crawled back on the mountain, without even lifting his hands to help himself up. The man was covered with mud from head to foot. He lay still, seemingly sleeping. The moonlight caught his face, and the shadow on his black hair gave out a whispering sound.