"Her name was Lidka . . . she was very stout . . ." More than
this he did not seem to remember, for he looked at them all, was
silent and smiled . . . in a guilty way. Those men spoke very
little to each other about their past, and they recalled it very
seldom and then only its general outlines. When they did mention
it, it was in a cynical tone. Probably, this was just as well,
since, in many people, remembrance of the past kills all present
energy and deadens all hope for the future.

* * * * *

On rainy, cold, or dull days in the late autumn, these "creatures
that once were men" gathered in the eatinghouse of Vaviloff.
They were well known there, where some feared them as thieves and
rogues, and some looked upon them contemptuously as hard
drinkers, although they respected them, thinking that they were
clever.

The eating-house of Vaviloff was the club of the main street, and
the "creatures that once were men" were its most intellectual
members. On Saturday evenings or Sunday mornings, when the
eating-house was packed, the "creatures that once were men" were
only too welcome guests. They brought with them, besides the
forgotten and poverty-stricken inhabitants of the street, their
own spirit, in which there was something that brightened the
lives of men exhausted and worn out in the struggle for
existence, as great drunkards as the inhabitants of Kuvalda's
shelter, and, like them, outcasts from the town. Their ability
to speak on all subjects, their freedom of opinion, skill in