100
The Way of the Cross
Following the car went the people, crying out in melancholy, monotonous, hopeless tones:
—Your high nobility! Show official kindness.
And suddenly I remembered:
—Where I had heard these very voices.
That very tone.
Sakhalin. The convicts having come:
—For their portion.
Oh God, were not these people until yesterday peasants with horses!
A dreadful place:
—Is Muchin yard.
Where the fugitive ceases to be:
—A peasant.
At ordinary times I suppose this yard is simply a large inn.
On the town side of the River Oster, on the heights.
Down below, under the cliff, is an im-
