You are one of the delegation sent to meet the poet. At the railway station, standing in the shade, you stare north into the glare. The day is peaceful, one of those filled with continental solitude. Next to you along the platform there are dwarfs, silent and motionless. You are on the verge of remarking on this when, soundless, the train arrives, its doors sighing open. The poet in cheap clothes steps out, his face that of a man who has been released from prison only to find no-one awaiting him at the gate.