The Desolation of Roslavl
103
He tries to raise his head from the ground.
He has not strength to hold it up, and lets it fall again.
Then suddenly he begins to wail, just like a man.
A little farther off lies a horse already stiff, and its long, long, lean legs stretch out.
In front of Muchin yard there is a crowd.
There's no making one's way through the carts.
And—a detail . . .
The horses are theirs no longer. They have been inspected, the price has been fixed, and the peasants await their money.
But to-day is cold and overcast, and all the horses are in some way sheltered from the cold.
The last service to "their" horses.
The last little care.
