Голод
Part III
DayafterdayIstroveatmywork,begrudgingmyselftheshorttimeittooktoswallowmyfoodbeforeIsatdownagaintowrite.Atthistimeboththebedandthelittlericketytablewerestrewnoverwithnotesandwrittenpages,uponwhichIworkedturnabout,addedanynewideaswhichmighthaveoccurredtomeduringtheday,erased,orquickenedhereandtherethedullpointsbyawordofcolour—faggedandtoiledatsentenceaftersentence,withthegreatestofpains.Oneafternoon,oneofmyarticlesbeingatlengthfinished,Ithrustit,contentedandhappy,intomypocket,andbetookmyselftothe"commandor."ItwashightimeImadesomearrangementtowardsgettingalittlemoneyagain;Ihadonlyafewpenceleft.
The"commandor"requestedmetositdownforamoment;hewouldbedisengagedimmediately,andhecontinuedwriting.
Ilookedaboutthelittleoffice—busts,prints,cuttings,andanenormouspaper-basket,thatlookedasifitmightswallowaman,bonesandall.Ifeltsadatheartatthesightofthismonstrouschasm,thisdragon’smouth,thatalwaysstoodopen,alwaysreadytoreceiverejectedwork,newlycrushedhopes.
"Whatdayofthemonthisit?"queriedthe"commandor"fromthetable.
"The28th,"Ireply,pleasedthatIcanbeofservicetohim,"the28th,"andhecontinueswriting.Atlastheenclosesacoupleoflettersintheirenvelopes,tossessomepapersintothebasket,andlaysdownhispen.
