To whom it is better to speak if not with the horse?

Misery is a spiral, we are sucked into it gradually.

Time drags so slowly and gives so little, so little, so pitifully little!

They imagine it was the work of nature that frightened the horse.

Iona with wide open eyes gazes blankly at all these people.

He cannot understand why he is denied the joy of communication.

Isn't it all the same now who listens to him.

And he tells the little white horse his story.

Probably many people are in a worse condition than you and you should bear with it.

Poor little kid, my darling...was a pet...dead now...