Yanson's hand lay motionless, like a board, but he made no longer any effort to withdraw it.
It was close and suffocating in the carriage.

The air was filled with the smell of soldiers' clothes, mustiness, and the leather of wet boots.
The young gendarme who sat opposite Werner breathed warmly upon him, and in his breath there was the odor of onions and cheap tobacco.

But some brisk, fresh air came in through certain clefts, and because of this, spring was felt even more intensely in this small, stifling, moving box, than outside.

The carriage kept turning now to the right, now to the left, now it seemed to turn back.

At times it seemed as though they had been turning around on one and the same spot for hours for some reason or other.