" There was an old woman, Ignatevna, who cured children of hunger... She gave them a potion of mushrooms cut with sweetgrass and the children died peacefully away, dry foam flecked on their lips. The mother would kiss the child on its aged, wrinkled forehead and whisper, "He's through suffering, praise God!"
Ignatevna stood there and said, "He passed on, the quiet little thing... He's better off than the living, lying there like that ... now he's listening to the silver winds in heaven..."
The mother admired her child, believing his sad lot tobe cured.
"Here, take my old skirt for yourself, Ignatevna. I've got nothing else to give. And thank you...."
Ignatevna spread the skirt out to the light and said, "Cry a bit, Mitrevna, you really should.... This skirt though ... it's worn clear through. Throw in a scarf at least, or maybe give me your iron. "

― Andrei Platonov , Chevengur