He was like a schoolmaster with two students too big for him to handle.

Always the Latin was dispossessing the Slav or the Slav was ousting the Latin.

With fatalistic confidence that nevermore would he look upon the kindly face of Stefani Gregor, alive, he went in search of food.
Not a crust did he find.

In the ice-chest there was a bottle of milk--soured.

Hungry; and not a crumb! And he dared not go out in search of food.