The constant rumble and murmur seemed unbearable to Wokulski, and the inner emptiness was terrible. He wanted to do something and remembered that one of the foreign capitalists was asking him for his opinion on the boulevards on the Vistula. He already had a sentence: Warsaw is pregnant with all its enormity and is sliding towards the Vistula. If the banks of the river were fortified with boulevards, the most beautiful part of the city would be created there: buildings, shops, avenues …

“You have to look what it would look like,” whispered Wokulski and turned onto Karowa Street. At the gate leading there he saw a barefoot, tied with ropes, a porter who was drinking water straight from the water fountain; he splashed from head to toe, but his face was very pleased and his eyes were laughing.