Голод

Part II

           TothinkthatIcouldreallygoandforgetthebuttons.Itookthemoutofmypocket,andinspectedthemasIwalkedonagain.Myeyesgrewdazedwithjoy.Ididnotseethestreet;Isimplywenton.Didn’tIknowexactlythebigpawn-shopmyrefugeinthedarkevenings,withmyblood-suckingfriend?Onebyonemypossessionshadvanishedtheremylittlethingsfromhomemylastbook.Ilikedtogothereonauctiondays,tolookon,andrejoiceeachtimemybooksseemedlikelytofallintogoodhands.Magelsen,theactor,hadmywatch;Iwasalmostproudofthat.Adiary,inwhichIhadwrittenmyfirstsmallpoeticalattempt,hadbeenboughtbyanacquaintance,andmytopcoathadfoundahavenwithaphotographer,tobeusedinthestudio.Sotherewasnocausetogrumbleaboutanyofthem.Iheldmybuttonsreadyinmyhand;"Uncle"issittingathisdesk,writing."Iamnotinahurry,"Isay,afraidofdisturbinghim,andmakinghimimpatientatmyapplication.MyvoicesoundedsocuriouslyhollowIhardlyrecognizeditagain,andmyheartbeatlikeasledge-hammer.

           Hecamesmilinglyovertome,aswashiswont,laidbothhishandsflatonthecounter,andlookedatmyfacewithoutsayinganything.Yes,IhadbroughtsomethingofwhichIwouldaskhimifhecouldmakeanyuse;somethingwhichisonlyinmywayathome,assureyouofitarequiteanannoyancesomebuttons.Well,whatthen?whatwasthereaboutthebuttons?andhethrustshiseyesdownclosetomyhand.

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