All were falling in ruins; all had been drunk away, and poverty and rags alone remained.

The whole neighbourhood was depopulated, as if after a fire or an epidemic; and if Yankel had lived there ten years, he would probably have depopulated the Waiwode's whole domains.
Taras entered the room.

The Jew was praying, enveloped in his dirty shroud, and was turning to spit for the last time, according to the forms of his creed, when his eye suddenly lighted on Taras standing behind him.

The first thing that crossed Yankel's mind was the two thousand ducats offered for his visitor's head; but he was ashamed of his avarice, and tried to stifle within him the eternal thought of gold, which twines, like a snake, about the soul of a Jew.
"Listen, Yankel," said Taras to the Jew, who began to bow low before him, and as he spoke he shut the door so that they might not be seen, "I saved your life: the Zaporozhtzi would have torn you to pieces like a dog.

Now it is your turn to do me a service." The Jew's face clouded over a little.
"What service?
If it is a service I can render, why should I not render it ?" "Ask no questions.