is voluntary headsman, had treated her without rudeness,
but with such absence of even a hint at endearment, with such disdain
and wooden indifference, as no human being is treated; not even a dog
or a horse, and not even an umbrella, overcoat or hat, but like some
dirty, unclean object, for which a momentary, unavoidable need arises,
but which, at the passing of its needfulness, becomes foreign, useless,
and disgusting. The entire horror of this thought the fat Kate could
not embrace with her brain of a fattened turkey hen, and because of
that cried--as it seemed even to her--without cause and reason.

There were also other happenings, which stirred up the turbid, foul
life of these poor, sick, silly, unfortunate women. There were cases of
savage, unbridled jealousy with pistol shots and poisoning;
occasionally, very rarely, a tender, flaming and pure love would
blossom out upon this dung; occasionally the women even abandoned an
establishment with the help of the loved man, but almost always came
back. Two or three times it happened that a woman from a brothel would
suddenly prove pregnant--and this always seemed, on the face of it,
laughable and disgraceful, but touching in the profundity of the event.

And no matter what may have happened, every evening brought with it
such an irritating, strained, spicy expectation of adventures that
every other life, after that in a house of ill-fame, would have seemed
flat and humdrum to these lazy women of no will power.

CHAPTER V.

The windows are opened wide to the fragrant darkness of the evening,
and the tulle curtains stir faintly back and forth from the
imperceptible movement of the air. It smells of dewy grass from the
consumptive little garden in front of the house, and just the least wee
bit of lilac and the withering birch leaves of the little trees placed
near the entrance because of the Trinity. Liuba, in a blue velvet
blouse with low cut bosom, and Niura, dressed as a "baby," in a pink,
wide sacque to the knees, with her bright hair loose and with little
curls on her forehead, are lying embraced on the window-sill, and are
singing in a low voice a song about the hospital, which song is the
rage of the day and exceedingly well known among prostitutes. Niura,
through her nose, leads in a high voice.

Liuba seconds her with a stifled alto:

"Monday now is come again,
They're supposed to get me out;
Doctor Krasov won't let me out ..."

In a