the bench together with the man, and begin talking in a low voice.
Grisha, wrapped up as he is, feels insufferably hot and stifled.

"Why is this?" he wonders, looking about him.

He sees the dark ceiling, the oven fork with two horns, the stove
which looks like a great black hole.

"Mam-ma," he drawls.

"Come, come, come!" cries the nurse. "Wait a bit!"

The cook puts a bottle on the table, two wine-glasses, and a pie.
The two women and the man with the bright buttons clink glasses and
empty them several times, and, the man puts his arm round first the
cook and then the nurse. And then all three begin singing in an
undertone.

Grisha stretches out his hand towards the pie, and they give him a
piece of it. He eats it and watches nurse drinking. . . . He wants
to drink too.

"Give me some, nurse!" he begs.

The cook gives him a sip out of her glass. He rolls his eyes, blinks,
coughs, and waves his hands for a long time afterwards, while the
cook looks at him and laughs.

When he gets home Grisha begins to tell mamma, the walls, and the
bed where he has been, and what he has seen. He talks not so much