She bore all the burden of the festivities now. Ona was kept up by her excitement, but all of the women and most of the men were tired⁠—the soul of Marija was alone unconquered. She drove on the dancers⁠—what had once been the ring had now the shape of a pear, with Marija at the stem, pulling one way and pushing the other, shouting, stamping, singing, a very volcano of energy. Now and then someone coming in or out would leave the door open, and the night air was chill; Marija as she passed would stretch out her foot and kick the doorknob, and slam