"
As we came back, the full delight of troika-riding came over us, for
driving in the country we could not tell how fast we were going. But
in town, whizzing past other carriages, hearing the shouts of the
idvosjik, "Troika!" and seeing the people scatter and the sledges turn
out (for a troika has the right of way), we realized at what a pace we
were going. We dashed across the frozen Neva, with its tramway built
right on the ice; past the Winter Palace, along the quai, where all
the embassies are, into the Grand Morskaia, and from there into the
Nevski, with the snow flying and our bells ringing, and the middle
horse trotting and the outer horses galloping, sending clouds of steam
from their heaving flanks and palpitating nostrils, and the biting air
making our blood tingle, and the reiterated shout of the idvosjik,
"Troika! troika!" taking our breath away.
We had one more excitement before we reached home, which was seeing a
Russian fire-engine. We passed it in a run. The engine was on one
sledge, and following it were five other sledges carrying hogsheads of
water.
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