corner; he did not return the salutation. This surprised Martin; he looked up and saw that it was the poacher, restored to health.
Instantly Martin felt as if his stature were being raised; strain and torment burst away from around his heart, which had been encircled as with iron rings. And there was in this liberated heart a masterful, unsubdued, high-handed spirit.
‘Why don’t you answer me?’ he shouted at Novák.
He was pleased to hear his own loud, clear voice. He had murdered no man; what need was there to change anything in his ways?
Novák answered him in a cold and sad voice: ‘You know quite well why I did not answer you.’
‘How should I know? I have done you no harm,’ lied the youth.
‘I have been laid up,’ said Novak. ‘This is the first time I have come down here. And my foot will never be right. The likes of us don’t go to the doctor or the hospital, and you’ve splintered the bone and made me a cripple for life. And all because a poor man wanted his share from the rich. I love the woods as much as you do.’
He got up and went towards the door,
