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She at least has a warm home to go to, but what about me? . . . Where can I go? Oowow-owow! 'Here, doggy, here, boy! Here, Sharik . . . What are you whining for, poor little fellow? Did somebody hurt you, then?' The terrible snowstorm howled around the doorway, buffeting the girl's ears.
It blew her skirt up to her knees, showing her fawn stockings and a little strip of badly washed lace underwear, drowned her words and covered the dog in snow.
My God . . . what weather . . . ugh . . . And my stomach aches.
It's that awful salt beef.
When is all this going to end?' Lowering her head the girl launched into the attack and rushed out of the doorway.
On the street the violent storm spun her like a top, then a whirlwind of snow spiralled around her and she vanished.
But the dog stayed in the doorway.
His scalded flank was so painful that he pressed himself against the cold wall, gasping for breath, and decided not to move from the spot.
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