The slanting rays of the sun were still hot; his clothes were wet through with perspiration and stuck to his body; his left boot, full of water, was heavy and made a smacking sound; down his face, grimy with powder, ran drops of sweat; a bitter taste was in his mouth, the smell of powder and rust was in his nose, and the perpetual cry of the snipe was in his ears; he could not touch the barrels of his gun, they were so hot; his heart thumped with short, quick beats; his hands trembled with excitement and his tired feet stumbled as he dragged them over the hummocks and through the bog; but still he went on and shot.
Még mindig forrón tűztek alá a nap ferde sugarai; az izzadtságtól csuron-vizes ruhája odatapadt a testéhez; balcsizmája tele lévén vízzel, nehéz volt és szortyogott egyre; a lőpor-koromtól bemocskolt arczán nagy csöppekben pörgött az izzadtság; keserű volt a szája, az orra tele volt a lőpor és a mocsár szagával s folyton a fülébe csengett a kis sneffek csekkegése; olyan forró volt a puskája csöve, hogy hozzá se nyúlhatott; a szíve szaporán és kurtán dobogott; a karjai remegtek az izgatottságtól, s fáradt lábai minduntalan megbotlottak és beleakadtak a zsombékba és a sárba; de ő csak ment és puskázott tovább.