Голод
Part I
Iputonmyshoes,takemytimewiththelaces,sitawhilequietlyafterI’mready,andstarevacantlybeforeme,holdingtheletterinmyhand.ThenIgetupandgo.
Theflickeringrayofagaslampgleamsupthestreet.Imakestraightforthelight,leanmyparcelagainstthelamp-postandopentheletter.Allthiswiththeutmostdeliberation.Astreamoflight,asitwere,dartsthroughmybreast,andIhearthatIgivealittlecry—ameaninglesssoundofjoy.Theletterwasfromtheeditor.Mystorywasaccepted—hadbeensetintypeimmediately,straightoff!Afewslightalterations....Acoupleoferrorsinwritingamended....Workedoutwithtalent...beprintedtomorrow...half-a-sovereign.
Ilaughedandcried,tooktojumpingandrunningdownthestreet,stopped,slappedmythighs,sworeloudlyandsolemnlyintospaceatnothinginparticular.Andtimewent.
AllthroughthenightuntilthebrightdawnI"jodled"aboutthestreetsandrepeated—"Workedoutwithtalent—thereforealittlemasterpiece—astrokeofgenius—andhalf-a-sovereign."
