Their place was burned down to ashes last summer, and they are now in dire need--they'll work for ten roubles." Sitting on the beams, Foma rocked his whole body to and fro, and out of the darkness, from the river, various human figures appeared silently before him--sailors, stokers, clerks, waiters, half-intoxicated painted women, and tavern-loungers.

They floated in the air like shadows; something damp and brackish came from them, and the dark, dense throng moved on slowly, noiselessly and swiftly, like clouds in an autumn sky.
The soft splashing of the waves poured into his soul like sadly sighing music.

Far away, somewhere on the other bank of the river, burned a wood-pile; embraced by the darkness on all sides, it was at times almost absorbed by it, and in the darkness it trembled, a reddish spot scarcely visible to the eye.

But now the fire flamed up again, the darkness receded, and it was evident that the flame was striving upward.

And then it sank again.
"Oh Lord, Oh Lord!" thought Foma, painfully and bitterly, feeling that grief was oppressing his heart with ever greater power.