Someone had swiped the poor man's shoes and socks while he was sleeping. I climb back into my car, number 224. Under the benches people lie in deep sleep. The door creaks. The little old woman bustles about, opens the window, and looks up and down the platform.
Someone leads a horse up the platform.
There is snorting, and hooves clatter. Petrovna drops her bundle, takes hold of a large tin teapot, and quickly runs out of the car. The second bell rings. A little conductor with a black mustache comes in. Well, if it's him, that's fine.