Arriving at the entrance of the cannery, the gate was open, and Kuvasz could easily see inside.
The morning mist had not yet dissipated, and the smell of coal smoke lingered in the moist air.
The brick factory in front of him was even more spacious than what he had just seen, almost like a palace.
As for the area in front of the palace, a sandy land about one acre in the center was cleared amidst the weedy wasteland.
Hundreds of workers stood in rows in the open space, wearing coarse cloth shirts with frayed edges and woolen trousers.
Unable to make sense of it, Kuvasz was pushed and pulled closer.
"Stand straight!" A hoarse command came from the front of the open space, spoken by a middle-aged man wearing an indigo canvas shirt.
A copper whistle was tucked at his waist, and his forearm muscles were taut.
"First, swing your arms! Left, right, left, right, pay attention to your breathing..."
