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Yozhov's face wrinkled into a bitter grimace, and he began to laugh, noiselessly, with his lips only. Foma did not understand his words, and, just to say something, he remarked at random: "You didn't hit, then, what you aimed at?" "Yes, I thought I would grow up higher. And so I should! So I should, I say!"

Vasily adjusted himself slowly, rose from the lounge, took Yozhov's yellow, thin little hand in his big, swarthy paw and pressed it. "Goodbye!" Then he nodded toward Foma and went through the door sideways. "Have you seen?" Yozhov asked Foma, pointing his hand at the door, behind which the heavy footsteps still resounded. "What sort of a man is he?" "Assistant machinist, Vaska Krasnoshchokov.

"Oh Lord!" exclaimed Foma, in astonishment, slightly rising from the lounge. "Is it possible that it is you?" "There are times, dear, when I don't believe it myself, but a real fact is something from which doubt jumps back as a rubber ball from iron." Yozhov's face was comically distorted, and for some reason or other his hands began to feel his breast. "Well, well!" drawled out Foma.

He watched them in silence, listened to their words; their audacity pleased him, but he was embarrassed and repelled by their condescending and haughty bearing toward him. And then he clearly saw that in Yozhov's room they were all cleverer and better than they were in the street and in the hotels.

Foma looked at him with a strange, mixed sensation; he pitied Yozhov, and at the same time he was pleased to see him suffering. "I am not alone, he is suffering, too," thought Foma, as Yozhov spoke. And something clashed in Yozhov's throat, like broken glass, and creaked like an unoiled hinge.

"What a queer fellow he is!" said Foma, dumfounded by Yozhov's adroitness and looking at Smolin interrogatively. "He is always like this. He's very clever," the red-headed boy explained. "And cheerful, too," added Foma. "Cheerful, too," Smolin assented. Then they became silent, looking at each other. "Will you come up with him to my house?" asked the red-headed boy. "Yes." "Come up.

I am happy in your company! I feel well in your midst. That is because you are men of toil, men whose right to happiness is not subject to doubt, although it is not recognised. In your ennobling midst, Oh honest people, the lonely man, who is poisoned by life, breathes so easily, so freely." Yozhov's voice quivered and quaked, and his head began to shake.

He listened to the fiery words of the small man, silently, without attempting to understand their meaning, having no desire to know against whom they were directed, absorbing their force only. Yozhov's words bubbled on like boiling water, and heated his soul. "I will say to them, to those miserable idlers: 'Look! Life goes onward, leaving you behind!" "Eh!

Comrades! we were created by Fate itself to complete one another!" "What does he beg of them?" thought Foma, listening to Yozhov's words with perplexity. And examining the faces of the compositors he saw that they also looked at the orator inquiringly, perplexedly, wearily.

Yozhov, fond of having a laugh at the expense of his well-fed friends, told them quite often: "Eh, you are little trunks full of cakes!" Foma was angry with him for his sneers, and one day, touched to the quick, said wickedly and with contempt: "And you are a beggar a pauper!" Yozhov's yellow face became overcast, and he replied slowly: "Very well, so be it!