That hateful staircase, up which I always passed with such dismay, gave out a smell of varnish which had to some extent absorbed, made definite and fixed the special quality of sorrow that I felt each evening, and made it perhaps even more cruel to my sensibility because, when it assumed this olfactory guise, my intellect was powerless to resist it.
Eskailera gorrotatu hari, nire tristuraren betiko xedera likatsu hari, berniz-usaina zerion, nolabait xurgatu eta finkatzen zuena arratsero sentitu ohi nuèn atsekabe-mota berezi hura, berau nire sentiberatasunarentzat agian ankerrago bihurtuz, usaimenezko era haren azpian nire adimenak ezin baitzezakeen lan egin.