I bent my head; I felt
a shame, a degradation as though I should have crept into some shadow
and hidden.... I would not mention this were it not that afterwards,
in retrospect, the moment seemed to me an omen. After all, life is not
always to the victorious!...
Our scarecrows wanted, horribly, their food. It was dreadful to see
the anxiety with which they watched the portioning of the thick heavy
hunks of black bread. They had to show Marie Ivanovna their dirty
little scraps of paper which described the portions to which they were
entitled. How their bony fingers clutched the paper afterwards as they
pressed it back into their skinny bosoms! Sometimes they could not
wait to return home, but would squat down on the ground and lap their
soup like dogs. The day grew hotter and hotter, the world smelt of
disease and dirt, waste and desolation. Marie Ivanovna's face was
soft with tenderness as she watched them. Semyonov had always his eye
upon her, seeing that she did not touch them, sometimes calling out
sharply: "Now! Marie! .
Pages:
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364