Olhou o rio, lá em baixo, indiferente, quase parado, de água escura porque o dia ainda mal amanhecera. Dentro em pouco, das sombras que escondiam agora pedras e arbustos em ambas as margens, sairia alguma cor, apesar do outono que principiara há quase um mês e que  deixava já claras marcas nas árvores que ladeavam o calmo curso de água, algumas delas tão velhas e altas que os topos das copas passavam mesmo em altura a velha e enferrujada treliça metálica onde, imóvel, contemplava, o rio e a dúvida.

E então saltou.

No dia seguinte, quando deram pela sua falta, fizeram-lhe a cama, e entregaram  a mala com os poucos pertences de viajante efémero no depósito de perdidos  e achados da estância de montanha a que há dois dias chegara, só e sem reserva antecipada.

A polícia ainda o procura.

Na última página do livro, ficou a saber-se que afinal não morrera e que vivia agora em Londres, noutra história, também ela com fim estranho e despropositado.

He looked down onto the river below, flowing  indifferent , almost still, its water dark for the day was still dawning. In a short while, from the shadows  now hiding stones and brushes in both banks, some colour would emerge, in spite of the autumn that had begun almost a full month past and that had already left conspicuous marks in the trees that bordered the quiet water stream, some of them so old and tall that the canopy tops stood prouder of the old and rusty lattice from where, immobile, he contemplated both river and doubt.

And then he jumped.

The next day, when his absence was  finally noticed, they tidied up his bed  and handed his bag, holding his few ephemeral traveler belongings to the lost and found depot at the mountain resort where he had arrived two days before, alone and without previous reservation.

The police is still searching for him.

On the book’s very last page it came to be known that he didn't really die and that he now lived in London, in another story, also with a strange and unfitting end.