Голод

           ItwasasifIhadonlyneededdisgraceofbeingobligedtoresignmyroomtoastrangertobetreatedasamanofnoaccount.Eventheservant,alittle,brown-eyed,street-wench,withabigfringeoverherforehead,andaperfectlyflatbosom,pokedfunatmeintheeveningwhenIgotmyrationofbreadandbutter.Sheinquiredperpetuallywhere,then,wasIinthehabitofdining,asshehadneverseenmepickingmyteethoutsidetheGrand?Itwasclearthatshewasawareofmywretchedcircumstances,andtookapleasureinlettingmeknowofit.

           Ifallsuddenlyintothoughtoverallthis,andamnotabletofindasolitaryspeechformydrama.TimeupontimeIseekinvain;astrangebuzzingbeginsinsidemyhead,andIgiveitup.Ithrustthepapersintomypocket,andlookup.Thegirlissittingstraightoppositeme.Ilookather—lookathernarrowbackanddroopingshoulders,thatarenotyetfullydeveloped.Whatbusinesswasitofherstoflyatme?EvensupposingIdidcomeoutofthepalace,whatthen?Diditharmherinanyway?Shehadlaughedinsolentlyinthepastfewdaysatme,whenIwasabitawkwardandstumbledonthestairs,orcaughtfastonanailandtoremycoat.Itwasnotlaterthanyesterdaythatshegatheredupmyroughcopy,thatIhadthrownasideintheante-room—stolentheserejectedfragmentsofmydrama,andreadthemaloudintheroomhere;madefunofthemineveryone’shearing,justtoamuseherselfatmyexpense.