Our proprietor stopped up
our windows with iron that we might not give his bread to the poor or
to those of our companions who, being out of work, were starving; our
proprietor called us cheats and gave us for our dinner tainted
garbage instead of meat.
It was stifling and narrow in our box of stone under the low, heavy
ceiling, covered with smoke-black and spider-webs. It was close and
disgusting within the thick walls, which were spattered with stains
of mud and mustiness. . . . We rose at five o'clock in the morning,
without having had enough sleep, and, dull and indifferent, we seated
ourselves by the table at six to make biscuits out of the dough,
which had been prepared for us by our companions while we were
asleep. And all day long, from morning till ten o'clock at night,
some of us sat by the table rolling out the elastic dough with our
hands, and shaking ourselves that we might not grow stiff, while the
others kneaded the dough with water. And the boiling water in the
kettle, where the cracknels were being boiled, was purring sadly and
thoughtfully all day long; the baker's shovel was scraping quickly
and angrily against the oven, throwing off on the hot bricks the
slippery pieces of dough.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25