ABSTRACT
The mill knew no rest until night-time when darkness fell with its sorrows and stray dogs. Only then did its heart stop beating and its blades cease rotating. Its metal sinews no longer moved and it sank into a long, deep and delicious slumber. But during morning, noon and evening it rumbled on constantly, grinding corn and barley into flour, belching out black smoke like a furious wind. Perhaps it was directing its anger at all those people who continuously brought their loads here, piling their sacks which bulged with grain. All of them beat their sticks on the ground and stamped their feet, insistently demanding that their flour be ready that very same day.
