The man fumbled and hesitated as he took the dish.
"I have been far away," he said, speaking now in the Russian tongue, in a low and tense voice.
Paulina started. The man caught her by the wrist.
"Quiet!" he said. "Speak no word, Paulina."
The woman paled beneath the dirt and tan upon her face.
"Who is it?" she whispered with parched lips.
"You know it is Michael Kalmar, your husband. Come forth. I wait behind yon hut. No word to any man."
"You mean to kill me," she said, her fat body shaking as if with palsy.
"Bah! You Sow! Who would kill a sow? Come forth, I say. Delay not."
He disappeared at once behind the neighbouring shack. Paulina, trembling so that her fingers could hardly pin the shawl she put over her head, made her way through the crowd. A few moments she stood before her door, as if uncertain which way to turn, her limbs trembling, her breath coming like sobs. In this plight Rosenblatt came upon her.