Перевод фрагмента художественного текста.

Here is the English translation of the text: Staring at the road, Sanya didn't even notice when an elderly man, much older than Mitya, with a face that was white and flabby, though his manners and self-confidence were local, sat down next to them. At first, he heard Mitya’s voice: — I'm looking and looking at you... I thought you had left... Or overslept. — I crawled to the very end. I barely made it through, — replied someone unknown, and at that, Sanya turned from the window to him. The man in a thick flannel shirt worn over his pants sat next to Mitya, and getting ready for a meal, was squeezing a tomato out of an open loaf of bread. — I didn't have time to drink tea in the morning. Is the guy coming with us? — he asked without looking at Sanya. — With us. — You didn't say. — So what? When would I have said it? — Fine, I’m attached to you. It's a good thing the rain didn't start yet, it smells like rain. Sanya became wary: he also didn't know that he and Mitya were not alone. With a third person in the taiga, of course, it was more reliable and more cheerful, but for some reason, it was unpleasant that he had only found out about him now. At the 94th kilometer, where no stop was supposed to be, but the train drivers, their own guys, were persuaded to slow down even more, perhaps yesterday, they poured down with hunched backs, like discarded parts of some dismantled huge creature. That’s how it seemed to Sanya. The train drivers, hurrying them up, jolted the train, and the people, steadying themselves on the ground on their feet, laughed and shook their fists at the head of the train. In the carriage, only a few remained.