Imperceptibly at first, but then quite unmistakably, his days grew shorter and shorter.
Almost before he knew it, another week had gone by, and another month, and another year, and another and another.
Having no recollection of the gray stranger's visit, Mr Figaro should seriously have asked himself where all his time was going,
but that was a question never considered by him or any other timesaver.
Something in the nature of a blind obsession had taken hold of him,
and when he realized to his horror that his days were flying by faster and faster, as he occasionally did,
it only reinforced his grim determination to save time.
Many other inhabitants of the city were similarly afflicted. Every day, more and more people took to saving time,
and the more they did so the more they were copied by others - even by those who had no real desire to join in but felt obliged to.
Radio, television and newspapers daily advertised and extolled the merits of new, timesaving gadgets
that would one day leave people free to live the “right” kind of life.
Walls and billboards were plastered with posters depicting scenes of happiness and prosperity.
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