Голод

           Iwouldlaymyheaduponthesheetsofwhitepaper,thecleanestthingsIhadleft,andthegreenblanket.I...Thegreenblanket!LikeashotIwaswideawake.Thebloodmountedtomyhead,andIgotviolentpalpitationoftheheart.Iarisefromtheseat,andstarttowalk.Lifestirsagaininallmyfibres,andtimeaftertimeIrepeatdisconnectedly,"Thegreenblanket—thegreenblanket."Igofasterandfaster,asifitisacaseoffetchingsomething,andstandafteralittletimeinmytinker’sworkshop.Withoutpausingamoment,orwaveringinmyresolution,Igoovertothebed,androllupHansPauli’sblanket.Itwasastrangethingifthisbrightideaofminecouldn’tsaveme.Iroseinfinitelysuperiortothestupidscrupleswhichsprangupinme—halfinwardcriesaboutacertainstainonmyhonour.Ibadegood-byetothewholeofthem.Iwasnohero—novirtuousidiot.Ihadmysensesleft.

           SoItooktheblanketundermyarmandwenttoNo.5Stener’sStreet.Iknocked,andenteredthebig,strangeroomforthefirsttime.Thebellonthedoorabovemyheadgavealotofviolentjerks.Amanentersfromasideroom,chewing,hismouthisfulloffood,andstandsbehindthecounter.

           "Eh,lendmesixpenceonmyeye-glasses?"saidI."Ishallreleasetheminacoupleofdays,withoutfail—eh?"

           "No!they’resteel,aren’tthey?"

           "Yes."

           "No;can’tdoit."

           "Ah,no,Isupposeyoucan’t.