“The earth was loose, cool and very tasty, like a yeast rhubarb pie. The lower part of the turf turned out to be especially good, about twenty centimeters deep, as if the pie had been baked better from the lower part. True, the matter was slightly spoiled by the grass that covered the turf - short, thick and tough, like pig bristles. On the first day, Sonya cut her fingers on it, trying to pick out a handful of greasy, salty earth from under the thick skin - a skin, she thought, it was just a skin, not grass. His fingers were still raw, covered with a small scattering of blackened scratches; they needed to be washed, but there was nowhere…”