She opened her beak wide, threw back her head and began to vomit blood.
Lord Jesus!" cried the guest, slapping her thighs.
Just look at that! Clots of blood.
I've never seen a hen bring up like that before, so help me God!" These words accompanied the poor hen on her last journey.
She suddenly keeled over, digging her beak helplessly into the dust, and swivelled her eyes.
Then she rolled onto her back with her legs sticking up and lay motionless.
Matryoshka wept in her deep bass voice, spilling the water, and the Chairman of the cooperative, the priest's widow, wept too while her guest lent over and whispered in her ear: "Stepanovna, I'll eat my hat if someone hasn't put the evil eye on your hens.
Whoever heard of it! Chickens don't have diseases like this! Someone's put a spell on them." "Tis devils' work!" the priest's widow cried to heaven.
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