Not a passage but a tag. There is no verb here and no sentence: four nouns in the accusative, hung in the air. This is what a bookmark looks like — a token pointing to what one remembers anyway. Passages 11.22–11.25 run in sequence as a string of such EXERCISEtags, with not a word of exposition: a rare stretch in the corpus where the notebook shows its working state.

Two words carry the whole thing. πτοία — "flutter, startle" (the same word stands in the list at 10.9, where life is called μῖμος, πόλεμος, πτοία, νάρκη, δουλεία); διασόβησις — from διασοβέω, "to scare off, to flush," used of birds put up from cover. Both are about being jerked into motion, not about fear as a state: the mouse is not afraid, it bolts.

Whose alarm and scurrying. The Greek τούτου ("of this one") points by rule to the nearer noun — the house mouse, and so Long reads it ("of the town mouse"). Rogovin renders "of her alarm" without specifying, and in Russian it comes out as the field mouse. Yet the whole point lies just here: the scurrying is the town mouse's price for the rich table.

What Marcus wants with it. The argument is not ascetic ("give up luxury") but an accounting: compare not the dishes but the states. The same move as in the arguments against changing one's place — 10.23 (everywhere is the same as on a mountain top) — and in the catalogues of the world's bustle such as 7.3. The governing discipline is desire, the sustaining one assent.