56
The Way of the Cross
You cannot imagine anything more distressing to the nerves than this uninterrupted, never-silent, monotonous:
—Me give—me give—me give—me give—me give. . . .
A sister with a white kerchief on her head and a crimson face shows herself at the window.
—Yes, we hear. We hear you. We'll give you some—she cries despairingly.
But the crowd continues its sad unceasing murmur.
—Me give—me give—me give—me give—me give. . . .
I learnt afterwards that this "way" was invented entirely by the same turbulent people of Holm province.
All the others wait in silence.
The Holm women repeat unweariedly:
—Me give—me give—me give—me give—me give. . . .
I get into the motor-car and go farther
