Голод

Part I

           Shehasnobookwithher;notasinglepageofabook,andyetshefumblesinherpockets,looksdownrepeatedlyatherhands,turnsherheadandscrutinizesthestreetsbehindher,exertshersensitivelittlebraintotheutmostintryingtodiscoverwhatbookitisIamtalkingabout.Herfacechangescolour,hasnowone,nowanotherexpression,andsheisbreathingquiteaudiblyeventheverybuttonsonhergownseemtostareatme,likearowoffrightenedeyes.

           "Don’tbotherabouthim!"sayshercompanion,takingherbythearm."Heisdrunk;can’tyouseethatthemanisdrunk?"

           StrangeasIwasatthisinstanttomyself,soabsolutelyapreytopeculiarinvisibleinnerinfluences,nothingoccurredaroundmewithoutmyobservingit.Alarge,browndogsprangrightacrossthestreettowardstheshrubbery,andthendowntowardstheTivoli;hehadonaverynarrowcollarofGermansilver.Fartherupthestreetawindowopenedonthesecondfloor,andaservant-maidleantoutofit,withhersleevesturnedup,andbegantocleanthepanesontheoutside.Nothingescapedmynotice;Iwasclear-headedandready-witted.Everythingrushedinuponmewithagleamingdistinctness,asifIweresuddenlysurroundedbyastronglight.Theladiesbeforemehadeachabluebird’swingintheirhats,andaplaidsilkribbonroundtheirnecks.Itstruckmethattheyweresisters.

           Theyturned,stoppedatCisler’smusic-shop,andspoketogether.Istoppedalso.

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Roboto Lora
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