The ice was moving slowly down in an ever more compact mass, the grey-blue blocks ground against each other with a grating sound as they broke, cracked, and split into small fragments, sometimes showing the muddy waters below, and then once again hiding them from view. The river had the appearance of some enormous body eaten by some terrible skin disease, as it lay spread out before us, covered with scabs and sores; while some invisible hand seemed to be trying to purify it from the filthy scales which disfigured its surface. Any minute it seemed to us we might behold the river, freed from its bondage, and flowing past us in all its might and beauty, with its waves once more sparkling and gleaming under the sunlight, which, piercing the clouds, would cast bright, joyful glances earthwards.
"They will be here soon now, your honour!" exclaimed Kireelka in a cheerful voice. "The ice is getting thinner there, and they are just at the headland now."
He pointed with his cap, which he held in his hand, into the distance, where, however, I could see nothing but ice.
"Is it far from here to Olchoff?"
"Well, your honour, by the nearest way it would be about five versts."
"Devil take it all! A-hem. I say, have you got anything with you? Potatoes or bread?"
"Bread? Well, yes, your honour, I have got a bit of bread with me, but as for potatoes—no—I haven't any; they didn't yield this year."
"Well, have you got the bread with you?"
"Yes, here it is, inside my shirt."
"Faugh! Why the devil do you put it into your pazoika?"