race we are! Eh? A cancer which destroys us nationally and politically,—no foundation . . .” he coughed. “I know the people. . . . I, sir, have been a teacher . . . you are surprised? I now no longer wonder . . . the product of circumstances and of the times . . . thus does fate hurl a man down. . . . ’Tis my good luck, sir, that I have a daughter. . . . A good child . . . she is the Antigone of my misery. . . . No doubt, sir, your heart is in the right spot, and you sympathize with me,—I thank you. Permit me to make you acquainted with my daughter,—there in that house,—don’t be surprised.”
Jiří quickened his steps, and he at once turned around the corner of the first street. He shook himself, as if a spray of mud had fallen upon him.
In some tower a clock droned out the hours in even measure. . . . At the distant railroad station a locomotive whistled . . . Again quiet . . . quiet. . . .
