“Sour cabbage soup, why, that’s good. I delight in it; there’s nothing more juicy,” exclaimed a third.
“Well, if they gave you nothing but beef, beef, beef, for ever and ever, would you like that?”
“Yes, yes; they ought to give us meat,” said a fourth; “one’s almost killed at the workshops; and, by heaven! when one has got through with work there one’s hungry, hungry; and you don’t get anything to satisfy your hunger.”
“It’s true, the victuals are simply damnable.”
“He fills his pockets, don’t you fear!”
“It isn’t your business.”
“Whose business is it? My belly’s my own. If we were all to make a row about it together, you’d soon see.”
“Yes.”
“Haven’t we been beaten enough for complaining, dolt that you are?”
“True enough! What’s done in a hurry is never well done. And how would you set about making a raid over it, tell me that?”