'in days of yore, and as soon as he had entered it, he had found it quite becoming a room.' p.26 French edition
In the must again of process, the becoming room was the hiding place of the oNes they were becoming. She, literally, had heard this differently. In later conversation, in correspondances that were yet to come, she often affirmed he had not said that at all, that he had told her, 'the becoming-room is the hiding pace of the oNes we are becoming.' She could prove this through traceable travels in the austere scriptorium of their writings but each time he had refuted her claims by an ever affirming yes! 'Yes! Since place will never be pace, pace is place. So let's just keep pacing along!' She had noticed that the more they stayed in the room, the more volatile they became. And it was just as well for how else would they become anything else if not through their becoming volatile? Of course, these states were often followed by quite solidifying solitudes when they were apart. He would feel heavy from the seperation, a dead weight hitting the hard line of the river-bed. Sometimes the room was a river with its banks and its bed and its riverrun into a square pond, for her sometimes it was a head full of stories or a head full of books, a library-head, for him the room was a head-library and sometimes for the oNes they were becoming, the room was a four screened movie theater, a circle screened cinema with the words and light in the back, always in the back, behind their backs, clicketing their worlds before them. And they often laughed at how Orpheus would have loved this, seeing Eurydice without having to look back, marching on pacefully to the riverrun surface! But then,
