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VISITING DAY,THE MEN'S WARD. human hair wigs jhb

Nekhludoff left home early. A peasant from the country was stilldriving along the side street and calling out in a voice peculiarto his trade, "Milk! milk! milk!" h-201 human hair wig by vivica fox

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The first warm spring rain had fallen the day before, and nowwherever the ground was not paved the grass shone green. Thebirch trees in the gardens looked as if they were strewn withgreen fluff, the wild cherry and the poplars unrolled their long,balmy buds, and in shops and dwelling-houses the doublewindow-frames were being removed and the windows cleaned.

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In the Tolkoochi [literally, jostling market, where second-handclothes and all sorts of cheap goods are sold] market, whichNekhludoff had to pass on his way, a dense crowd was surgingalong the row of booths, and tattered men walked about sellingtop-boots, which they carried under their arms, and renovatedtrousers and waistcoats, which hung over their shoulders.

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Men in clean coats and shining boots, liberated from thefactories, it being Sunday, and women with bright silk kerchiefson their heads and cloth jackets trimmed with jet, were alreadythronging at the door of the traktir. Policemen, with yellowcords to their uniforms and carrying pistols, were on duty,looking out for some disorder which might distract the ennui thatoppressed them. On the paths of the boulevards and on thenewly-revived grass, children and dogs ran about, playing, andthe nurses sat merrily chattering on the benches. Along thestreets, still fresh and damp on the shady side, but dry in themiddle, heavy carts rumbled unceasingly, cabs rattled andtramcars passed ringing by. The air vibrated with the pealing andclanging of church bells, that were calling the people to attendto a service like that which was now being conducted in theprison. And the people, dressed in their Sunday best, werepassing on their way to their different parish churches.

The isvostchik did not drive Nekhludoff up to the prison itself,but to the last turning that led to the prison.

Several persons,men and women,most of them carrying smallbundles, stood at this turning, about 100 steps from the prison.To the right there were several low wooden buildings; to theleft, a two-storeyed house with a signboard. The huge brickbuilding, the prison proper, was just in front, and the visitorswere not allowed to come up to it. A sentinel was pacing up anddown in front of it, and shouted at any one who tried to passhim.

At the gate of the wooden buildings, to the right, opposite thesentinel, sat a warder on a bench, dressed in uniform, with goldcords, a notebook in his hands. The visitors came up to him, andnamed the persons they wanted to see, and he put the names down.Nekhludoff also went up, and named Katerina Maslova. The warderwrote down the name.

"Why,don't they admit us yet?" asked Nekhludoff.

"The service is going on. When the mass is over, you'll beadmitted."

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