What it was he did not tell me. There was
a crushed spirit in that mangled body. Nothing I found to say could make
him whole. When they let him out, he crept into that hole, and bore his
remorse stoically. He would not go near anyone he knew. I would have
sought assistance for him, but, indeed, where could I have gone looking
for it? Where was I to look for anyone who had anything to spare or any
power to help? The people living round us were all starving and drunken.
They were the victims of the Ministry of Finances. Don't ask me how we
lived. I couldn't tell you. It was like a miracle of wretchedness. I had
nothing to sell, and I assure you my clothes were in such a state that
it was impossible for me to go out in the daytime. I was indecent. I had
to wait till it was dark before I ventured into the streets to beg for a
crust of bread, or whatever I could get, to keep him and me alive. Often
I got nothing, and then I would crawl back and lie on the floor by the
side of his couch. Oh yes, I can sleep quite soundly on bare boards.
That is nothing, and I am only mentioning it to you so that you should
not think I am a sybarite. It was infinitely less killing than the task
of sitting for hours at a table in a cold study to take the books of
Peter Ivanovitch from dictation.
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