Semyonov's big body occupied half the wagon, Andrey Vassilievitch's boots touched my head and at intervals his whole body gave nervous jerks.

It was also quite bitterly cold, which was curious enough after the warmth of the earlier nights.

And always, at what seemed to be regular intervals, there came, from the forest, the banging of the iron door.
I felt a passionate irritation against Andrey Vassilievitch.

Why could he not keep quiet?
What, after all, was he doing here?
I could hear that he was dreaming.

He muttered some woman's name: "Sasha ...