like a spirit in the hallway, to disappear, be swept into the dance of this unlit chandelier... a flurry of voices behind doors on either side, where masks are displayed and imitations abound, some more cunning than others, some more precise, some threateningly individual and for that reason -- if only for that reason -- almost not at all, almost here in this empty hall too, almost also swept away by the consolation of distance, its promise of memory.