Two others tugged at a stick, testing their strength.

Several busied themselves with the basket containing beer and provisions; a tall man with a grayish beard threw branches on the fire, which was enveloped in thick, whitish smoke.

The damp branches, falling on the fire, crackled and rustled plaintively, and the accordion teasingly played a lively tune, while the falsetto of the singer reinforced and completed its loud tones.
Apart from them all, on the brink of a small ravine, lay three young fellows, and before them stood Yozhov, who spoke in a ringing voice: "You bear the sacred banner of labour.

And I, like yourselves, am a private soldier in the same army.

We all serve Her Majesty, the Press.
And we must live in firm, solid friendship." "That's true, Nikolay Matveyich!" some one's thick voice interrupted him.