Our train arrived at night and stopped not far from Samara. For some reason we could not go any farther. It was one or two in the morning. It was quiet and there was frost on the beets. Our train slept, all was silent, but suddenly, I could make out a thin, weak, remote wailing. I listened – the wailing grew strong and then fell again. I went out onto the platform. In the moonlight, at a great distance, lay some kind of gray rags. As I looked I could see them turning, and from the bosom of these rags came a weak, lingering wail: “Kh-le-b-tsa-, kh-le-b-tsa.” One could scarcely distinguish the separate voices, but due to their faintness, they all merged in a weak drawn-out wail. They were children, perhaps three, maybe four thousand, and at my disposal I had ten pounds of bread.