Голод
Part I
"Isaidgood-night,andinstinctivelytooktheroadtomyoldabode.IfIonlysetaboutitcarefully,Imightbeabletogetupstairswithoutbeingheard;therewereeightstepsinall,andonlythetwotoponescreakedundermytread.DownatthedoorItookoffmyshoes,andascended.Itwasquieteverywhere.Icouldheartheslowtick-tackofaclock,andachildcryingalittle.AfterthatIheardnothing.Ifoundmydoor,liftedthelatchasIwasaccustomedtodo,enteredtheroom,andshutthedoornoiselesslyafterme.
EverythingwasasIhadleftit.Thecurtainswerepulledasidefromthewindows,andthebedstoodempty.Icaughtaglimpseofanotelyingonthetable;perhapsitwasmynotetothelandlady—shemightneverhavebeenupheresinceIwentaway.
Ifumbledwithmyhandsoverthewhitespot,andfelt,tomyastonishment,thatitwasaletter.Itakeitovertothewindow,examineaswellasitispossibleinthedarkthebadly-writtenlettersoftheaddress,andmakeoutatleastmyownname.Ah,Ithought,ananswerfrommylandlady,forbiddingmetoentertheroomagainifIwereforsneakingback.
Slowly,quiteslowlyIlefttheroom,carryingmyshoesinonehand,theletterintheother,andtheblanketundermyarm.Idrawmyselfup,setmyteethasItreadonthecreakingsteps,gethappilydownthestairs,andstandoncemoreatthedoor
