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I ordered everything they had in the house I think, a cold Pomeranian GANSEBRUST, a garlicky WURST, and GERAUCHERTE LACHS. I had a packet of my own Fortnum and Mason's Souchong; and when the stove gave out its glow, and the samovar its music, Beninsky's gratitude and his hunger passed the limits of restraint. Late into the night we smoked our meerschaums.
When he left, with tears in his eyes, I was consoled to think that for one night at any rate he and his GANSEBRUST and sausage would rest peacefully in Abraham's bosom. What Abraham would say to the sausage I did not ask; nor perhaps did my poor Beninsky. THE remainder of the year '49 has left me nothing to tell.
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