He saw a shelf of rock and a stone bench before it. The
gaoler placed his hands on a black loaf, while the other held up the
lantern.
"That will last you four days," said the gaoler.
"Well, my son, judging from the unappetizing look of it, I think it
will last me much longer."
The gaoler made no reply, but he and the man with the lantern retired,
drawing the door heavily after them. Lermontoff heard the bolts thrust
into place, and the turn of the key; then silence fell, all but the
babbling of the water. He stood still in the center of the cell, his
hands thrust deep in the pockets of his overcoat, and, in spite of
this heavy garment, he shivered a little.
"Jack, my boy," he muttered, "this is a new deal, as they say in the
West. I can imagine a man going crazy here, if it wasn't for that
stream. I never knew what darkness meant before. Well, let's find out
the size of our kingdom."
He groped for the wall, and stumbling against the stone bench, whose
existence he had forgotten, pitched head forward to the table, and
sent the four-day loaf rolling on the floor. He made an ineffectual
grasp after the loaf, fearing it might fall into the stream and be
lost to him, but he could not find it, and now his designs for
measuring the cell gave place to the desire of finding that loaf. He
got down on his hands and knees, and felt the stone floor inch by inch
for half an hour, as he estimated the time, but never once did he
touch the bread.
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