84
The Way of the Cross
people are crushed in one compact mass where from the heat of bodies and the smell of horses it is difficult to breathe, if any one is cheerful, it is only the purchaser.
The fugitives have not much to say for themselves, and that in a low voice.
As if stunned.
They sell their horses and stand as if in perplexity.
They go away—horseless, peasants no longer, wordless.
In appearance so calm and indifferent:
As if nothing had happened.
No expression of the grief, of the deadly melancholy which is in the soul.
A silent land.
In the same street as the market-place, by the Petrograd Hotel, from dawn until late evening, the crowd is like stone.
There's no getting through.
The hotel is occupied by the Committee:
