long-haired revolutionary was cleaning a shirt. A woman
with her hair done up in a blue handkerchief was very
carefully ironing a blouse. Another was busy stewing sheets,
or something of that kind, in a big cauldron. And all the
time people from all parts of the hotel were coming with
their pitchers and pans, from fine copper kettles to
disreputable empty meat tins, to fetch hot water for tea. At
the other side of the corridor was a sort of counter in front
of a long window opening into yet another kitchen. Here
there was a row of people waiting with their own saucepans
and plates, getting their dinner allowances of soup and meat
in exchange for tickets. I was told that people thought they
got slightly more if they took their food in this way
straight from the kitchen to their own rooms instead of being
served in the restaurant. But I watched closely, and decided
it was only superstition. Besides, I had not got a saucepan.


On paying for my room at the beginning of the week I was
given a card with the days of the week printed along its
edge. This card gave me the right to buy one dinner daily,
and when I bought it that day of the week was snipped off
the card so that I could not buy another. The meal consisted
of a plate of very good soup, together with a second course
of a scrap of meat or fish. The price of the meal varied
between five and seven roubles.


One could obtain this meal any time between two and seven.
Living hungrily through the morning, at two o'clock I used to