Tula and one of the young women (his daughters) dragged the dead body, which was that of a very old woman, out into the night.

The starosta had retired to the door-way when the lamp was lighted, his courage having failed him.

The air was foul with the reek of smoke and filth and infection.
"Come, Vasilli Tula," the village elder said, with suspicious eagerness.
"Come with me, I will give you what the good doctor says.

Though you owe me money, and you never try to pay me." But Tula was kissing and mumbling over the hem of Paul's coat.

Paul took no notice of him.
"We are starving, Excellency," the man was saying.