Голод
Part II
Thetimeofgracewasover.Isatdownononeofthebenchesnearthechurchinthemarket.Lord!howblackthingsbegantolookformenow!Ididnotcry;Iwastooutterlytired,worntothelastdegree.Isattherewithouttryingtoarriveatanyconclusion,sad,motionless,andstarving.Mychestwasmuchinflamed;itsmartedmoststrangelyandsorely—norwouldchewingshavingshelpmemuchlonger.Myjawsweretiredofthatbarrenwork,andIletthemrest.Isimplygaveup.Abrownorange-peel,too,Ihadfoundinthestreet,andwhichIhadatoncecommencedtochew,hadgivenmenausea.Iwasill—theveinsswelledupbluelyonmywrists.WhatwasitIhadreallysoughtafter?Runaboutthewholelive-longdayforashilling,thatwouldbutkeeplifeinmeforafewhourslonger.Consideringall,wasitnotamatterofindifferenceiftheinevitabletookplaceonedayearlieroronedaylater?IfIhadconductedmyselflikeanordinarybeingIshouldhavegonehomelongago,andlaidmyselfdowntorest,andgivenin.Mymindwasclearforamoment.NowIwastodie.Itwasinthetimeofthefall,andallthingswerehushedtosleep.Ihadtriedeverymeans,exhaustedeveryresourceofwhichIknew.Ifondledthisthoughtsentimentally,andeachtimeIstillhopedforapossiblesuccourIwhisperedrepudiatingly:"Youfool,youhavealreadybeguntodie."
Ioughttowriteacoupleofletters,makeallready—preparemyself.Iwouldwashmyselfcarefullyandtidymybednicely.
