The barins will not let him.

The nobles want all the money for themselves.

The Emperor is living in his palace, where there are fountains of wine.

We pay for that with our taxes.

You see my hand--I cannot work; but I must pay the taxes, or else we shall be turned out into the street." Paul, while attending to the wounded hand--an old story of an old wound neglected, and a constitution with all the natural healing power drained out of it by hunger and want and vodka--Paul, ever watchful, glanced round and saw sullen, lowering faces, eager eyes, hungry, cruel lips.
"But the winter is over now.