"The soldier must have been sent to the store," she thought, and
walked off listening with satisfaction to the youthful crunching
of the snow under her feet. She arrived at the station early; her
train was not yet ready; but in the dirty waiting room of the third
class, blackened with smoke, there were numerous people already.
The cold drove in the railroad workmen; cabmen and some poorly
dressed, homeless people came in to warm themselves; there were
passengers, also a few peasants, a stout merchant in a raccoon
overcoat, a priest and his daughter, a pockmarked girl, some five
soldiers, and bustling tradesmen. The men smoked, talked, drank
tea and whisky at the buffet; some one laughed boisterously; a wave
of smoke was wafted overhead; the door squeaked as it opened, the
windows rattled when the door was jammed to; the odor of tobacco,
machine oil, and salt fish thickly beat into the nostrils.
The mother sat near the entrance and waited. When the door opened
a whiff of fresh air struck her, which was pleasant to her, and
she took in deep breaths. Heavily dressed people came in with
bundles in their hands; they clumsily pushed through the door,
swore, mumbled, threw their things on the bench or on the floor,
shook off the dry rime from the collars of their overcoats and
their sleeves and wiped it off their beards and mustaches, all the
time puffing and blowing.
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