...of outside

But the staccato sound of metallic heels on the asphalt, approaching steadily along the rectilinear street, ringing out more and more clearly in the dead calm of the frozen night, the sound of heels cannot reach this place, nor can any other noise from outside. The street is too long, the curtains too thick, the house too high. No noise, not even muffled, ever penetrates the walls of the room, no vibration, no breath of air, and in the silence minute particles float slowly down, hardly visible in the light from the lampshade, gently down, vertically, always at the same speed, and the fine grey dust settles in an even layer on the parquet floor, the counterpane, the furniture.

[In The Labyrinth, Robbe-Grillet, A.]