She trudged along, looking neither right nor left, only at her feet and the tortoise.
After an eternity, or so it seemed to Momo, the surface of the street grew suddenly paler. She wrenched her leaden eyelids open and looked around.
Yes, they had finally reached the district where the light was neither that of dawn nor dusk,
and where all the shadows ran in different directions.
There were the forbidding white houses with the cavernous black windows, and there was the peculiar, egglike monument on its black stone plinth.
At the thought that it wouldn't be long before she saw Professor Hora again, Momo's courage revived.
″Please,″ she said to Cassiopeia, ″couldn't we go a bit faster?″
MORE HASTE LESS SPEED, came the reply. And the tortoise crawled on even more slowly than before.
Yet Momo noticed, as she had the first time, that they made better progress that way.
It was as if the street beneath them glided past more quickly the slower they went.
That, of course, was the secret of the district with the snow-white houses: the slower you went the better progress you made,
and the more you hurried the slower your rate of advance.
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