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It
was
cold
up
there
,
and
I
could
barely
see
my
window
for
the
intense
darkness
.
I
felt
my
towards
the
bed
,
pulled
off
my
shoes
,
and
set
about
warming
my
feet
between
my
hands
.
Then
I
lay
down
,
as
I
had
done
for
a
long
time
now
,
with
all
my
clothes
on
.
The
following
morning
I
sat
up
in
bed
as
soon
as
it
got
light
,
and
set
to
work
at
the
essay
once
more
.
I
sat
thus
till
noon
;
I
had
succeeded
by
then
in
getting
ten
,
perhaps
twenty
lines
down
,
and
still
I
had
not
found
an
ending
.
I
rose
,
put
on
my
shoes
,
and
began
to
walk
up
and
down
the
floor
to
try
and
warm
myself
.
I
looked
out
;
there
was
rime
on
the
window
;
it
was
snowing
.
Down
in
the
yard
a
thick
layer
of
snow
covered
the
paving-stones
and
the
top
of
the
pump
.
I
bustled
about
the
room
,
took
aimless
turns
to
and
fro
,
scratched
the
wall
with
my
nail
,
leant
my
head
carefully
against
the
door
for
a
while
,
tapped
with
my
forefinger
on
the
floor
,
and
then
listened
attentively
,
all
without
any
object
,
but
quietly
and
pensively
as
if
it
were
some
matter
of
importance
in
which
I
was
engaged
;
and
all
the
while
I
murmured
aloud
,
time
upon
time
,
so
that
I
could
hear
my
own
voice
.
But
,
great
God
,
surely
this
is
madness
!
and
yet
I
kept
on
just
as
before
.
After
a
long
time
,
perhaps
a
couple
of
hours
,
I
pulled
myself
sharply
together
,
bit
my
lips
,
and
manned
myself
as
well
as
I
could
.
There
must
be
an
end
to
this
!
I
found
a
splinter
to
chew
,
and
set
myself
resolutely
to
again
.
A
couple
of
short
sentences
formed
themselves
with
much
trouble
,
a
score
of
poor
words
which
I
tortured
forth
with
might
and
main
to
try
and
advance
a
little
.
Then
I
stopped
,
my
head
was
barren
;
I
was
incapable
of
more
.
And
,
as
I
could
positively
not
go
on
,
I
set
myself
to
gaze
with
wide
open
eyes
at
these
last
words
,
this
unfinished
sheet
of
paper
;
I
stared
at
these
strange
,
shaky
letters
that
bristled
up
from
the
paper
like
small
hairy
creeping
things
,
till
at
last
I
could
neither
make
head
nor
tail
of
any
of
it
.
I
thought
on
nothing
.
Time
went
;
I
heard
the
traffic
in
the
street
,
the
rattle
of
cars
and
tramp
of
hoofs
.
Jens
Olaj
's
voice
ascended
towards
me
from
the
stables
as
he
chid
the
horses
.
I
was
perfectly
stunned
.
I
sat
and
moistened
my
lips
a
little
,
but
otherwise
made
no
effort
to
do
anything
;
my
chest
was
in
a
pitiful
state
.
The
dusk
closed
in
;
I
sank
more
and
more
together
,
grew
weary
,
and
lay
down
on
the
bed
again
.
In
order
to
warm
my
fingers
a
little
I
stroked
them
through
my
hair
backwards
and
forwards
and
crosswise
.
Small
loose
tufts
came
away
,
flakes
that
got
between
my
fingers
,
and
scattered
over
the
pillow
.
I
did
not
think
anything
about
it
just
then
;
it
was
as
if
it
did
not
concern
me
.
I
had
hair
enough
left
,
anyway
.
I
tried
afresh
to
shake
myself
out
of
this
strange
daze
that
enveloped
my
whole
being
like
a
mist
.
I
sat
up
,
struck
my
knees
with
my
flat
hands
,
laughed
as
hard
as
my
sore
chest
permitted
me
--
only
to
collapse
again
.
Naught
availed
;
I
was
dying
helplessly
,
with
my
eyes
wide
open
--
staring
straight
up
at
the
roof
.
At
length
I
stuck
my
forefinger
in
my
mouth
,
and
took
to
sucking
it
.
Something
stirred
in
my
brain
,
a
thought
that
bored
its
way
in
there
--
a
stark-mad
notion
.
Supposing
I
were
to
take
a
bite
?
And
without
a
moment
's
reflection
,
I
shut
my
eyes
,
and
clenched
my
teeth
on
it
.
I
sprang
up
.
At
last
I
was
thoroughly
awake
.
A
little
blood
trickled
from
it
,
and
I
licked
it
as
it
came
.
It
did
n't
hurt
very
much
,
neither
was
the
wound
large
,
but
I
was
brought
at
one
bound
to
my
senses
.
I
shook
my
head
,
went
to
the
window
,
where
I
found
a
rag
,
and
wound
it
round
the
sore
place
.
As
I
stood
and
busied
myself
with
this
,
my
eyes
filled
with
tears
;
I
cried
softly
to
myself
.
