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At once the professor seemed to recover his reason and good spirits. Mikhail Alexandrovich! he shouted after Berlioz, who shuddered as he turned round and then remembered that the professor could have learned his sky sports centre name from a newspaper. The professor, cupping his hands into a trumpet, shouted : Wouldnt you like me to send a telegram to your uncle in Kiev? Another shock--how did this madman know that he had an sky sports centre uncle in Kiev? Nobody had ever put that in any newspaper. Could Bezdomny be right about him after all? And what about those phoney-looking documents of his? Definitely a weird character . . . ring up, ring up sky sports centre the Bureau at once . . . theyll come and sort it all out in no time. Without waiting to hear any more, Berlioz ran on. At the park gates leading into Bronnaya Street, the identical man, sky sports centre whom a short while ago the editor had seen materialise out of a mirage, got up from a bench and walked toward him. This time, however, he was not made of air but sky sports centre of flesh and blood. In the early twilight Berlioz could clearly distinguish his feathery little moustache, his little eyes, mocking and half drunk, his check trousers pulled up so tight that his dirty white socks were showing. sky sports centre Mikhail Alexandrovich stopped, but dismissed it as a ridiculous coincidence. He had in any case no time to stop and puzzle it out now. Are you looking for the turnstile, sir? sky sports centre enquired the check-clad man in a quavering tenor. This way, please! Straight on for the exit. How about the price of a drink for showing you the sky sports centre way, sir? ... church choirmaster out of work, sir ... need a helping hand, sir. . . . Bending double, the weird creature pulled off his jockey cap in a sweeping gesture. Without stopping sky sports centre to listen to the choirmasters begging and whining, Berlioz ran to the turnstile and pushed it. Having passed through he was just about to step off the pavement and cross the tramlines when

a white and red light flashed in his face and the pedestrian signal lit up with the words Stop! Tramway! A tram rolled into view, rocking slightly along the newly-laid track that ran sky sports centre down Yermolayevsky Street and into Bronnaya. As it turned to join the main line it suddenly switched its inside lights on, hooted and accelerated. Although he was standing in safety, the cautious Berlioz decided to retreat behind the railings. He put his hand on the turnstile and took a step backwards. He missed his grip and his foot slipped on the cobbles as sky sports centre inexorably as though on ice. As it slid towards the tramlines his other leg gave way and Berlioz was thrown across the track. Grabbing wildly, Berlioz fell prone. He struck his head violently on the cobblestones sky sports centre and the gilded moon flashed hazily across his vision. He just had time to turn on his back, drawing his legs up to his stomach with a frenzied movement and as he turned over he saw the woman tram-drivers sky sports centre face, white with horror above her red necktie, as she bore down on him with irresistible force and speed. Berlioz made no sound, but all round him the street rang with the desperate shrieks of sky sports centre womens voices. The driver grabbed the electric brake, the car pitched forward, jumped the rails and with a tinkling crash the glass broke in all its windows. At this moment Berlioz heard a despairing sky sports centre voice: Oh, no . . .! Once more and for the last time the moon flashed before his eyes but it split into fragments and then went black. Berlioz vanished from sight under the tramcar and a sky sports centre round, dark object rolled across the cobbles, over the kerbstone and bounced along the pavement. It was a severed head. 4. The Pursuit The womens hysterical shrieks and the sound, of police whistles died away. Two ambulances drove on, one bearing the body and the decapitated head to the morgue, the other carrying the beautiful tram-driver who had been wounded by slivers of glass.

Street sweepers in white overalls swept up the broken glass and poared sand on the pools of blood. Ivan Nikolayich, who had failed to reach the turnstile in time, collapsed on a bench and remained there. sky sports centre Several times he tried to ge:t up, but his legs refuse d to obey him, stricken by a kind of paralysis. The moment he had heard the first cry the poet had rushed towards the turnstile and seen the head bouncing on the pavement. The sight unnerved him so much that he bit his hand until it drew blood. He had naturally forgotten all about the mad German and could do nothing but wonder how one sky sports centre minute he coald have been talking to Berlioz and the next... his head ... Excited people were running along the avenue past the poet shouting something, but Ivan Nikolayich did sky sports centre not hear them. Suddenly two women collided alongside him and one of them, witlh a pointed nose and straight hair, shouted to the other woman just above his ear : .. . Anna, it sky sports centre was our Anna! She was coming from Sadovaya! Its her job, you see . . . she was carrying a litre of sunflower-seed oil to the grocery and she broke her jug on. sky sports centre