On her withered white arms blue veins ran like dark cords, her hands hung feebly down, and in them hung the child.

If a wind were to rise, I thought to myself, it would blow her away, and the little one with her.
"The auctioneer asked for a bid.

All were silent, for the dumb shadow was of no use for work; she was half-dead, and a burial costs money.
"So passed several minutes.

Then the auctioneer stepped up to her, and gave her a blow with his whip, that she might rouse herself up, and appear less miserable to the buyers.

She shivered like a person in a fever, pressed the child closer to her, and looked round at every one as though seeking for help--and me full in the face.