19
The brook was shallow and loud—the wide stream of icy mountain water was rushing furiously over the stones, whirling, foaming, sweeping over its low banks. Having crossed a wide bar of grey sand on the grass—a deposit along one of the stream's curves—Ivan and Giulia scooped up water in both hands and drank to their hearts’ content. Giulia returned to the bank, while Ivan rolled up his dog-torn trousers and went deeper. His legs began to ache from the cold. The rapid current was pulling him off his feet, but he wanted to wash himself to get the stinging sweat off his face. Ivan felt his rough jaw and rather noticeable beard and tried to see himself in the water, but nothing was visible in the roiling sediment except stones and foam. I must be scruffy as a thug, he thought and looked bac
