In a circle of paupers in the cemetery, among the tombstones covered with leaves and piled up in the rain and wind, a woman, dressed in a cotton dress and wearing a black scarf on her head, sits under the shade of two dry birch trees. A lock of white hair from his head is lying on his withered cheek. The ends of his tightly closed lips are somewhat puffy, leaving mournful lines on either side of the mouth. Her eyelids are swollen, as if she has cried a lot and has spent many long nights awake. I was watching her standing at a little distance, but she remained silent and did not stir even when I came close to her. She merely raised her extinguished eyes to look at me, and gazed downwards, without showing the least bit of eagerness, hesitation, or emotion that might have been expected on approaching me.