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Updated: June 26, 2025
In one of the deserted streets, Sashenka met them, and the mother, taking leave of Vyesovshchikov with a nod of her head, turned toward home with a sigh of relief. "And Pasha is in prison with Andriusha!" she thought sadly. Nikolay met her with an anxious exclamation: "You know that Yegor is in a very bad way, very bad! He was taken to the hospital. Liudmila was here.
How can you step to one side? It's hard." Liudmila laughed, saying softly: "And maybe it's not necessary." "I don't know whether it's necessary or not; but this I do know that people are becoming stronger than life, wiser than life; that's evident." Standing in the middle of the room, half-dressed, she fell to reflecting for a moment.
Somebody's young face came to her memory, somebody's resonant voice shouted, "That's the mother of Pavel Vlasov!" Sasha's eyes flashed joyously and tenderly. Rybin's dark, tall figure loomed up, the bronzed, firm face of her son smiled. Nikolay blinked in embarrassment; and suddenly everything was stirred with a deep but light breath. "Nikolay was right," said Liudmila, entering again.
"Let me introduce you: Seryozha Pelagueya Nilovna, the mother of the workingman whom they sentenced yesterday." Seryozha bowed silently and pressed the mother's hand. Then he brought in bread, and sat down to the table. Liudmila persuaded the mother not to go home until they found out whom the police were waiting for there. "Maybe they are waiting for you. I'm sure they'll examine you."
He is married to a young and very beautiful woman whom he rules with a rod of iron. He is friendly with Sultans, Shahs, and Amirs. He collaborated with Glinka in writing "Ruslan and Liudmila." He was a friend of Pushkin, but has never read him. He has not read a single book in his life.
She quickly turned around and walked back. The mother called "Good-by" after her. Within a few minutes she sat all frozen through at the stove in Liudmila's little room. Her hostess, Liudmila, in a black dress girded up with a strap, slowly paced up and down the room, filling it with a rustle and the sound of her commanding voice.
The mother embraced her vigorously and laughed softly, lightly taking pride in the victory of her heart. When they took leave of each other Liudmila looked into the mother's face, and asked her softly: "Do you know that it is well with you?" And herself supplied the answer: "Very well. Like a morning on a high mountain."
The train leaves at 2.05, arrives there 5.15. You'll get there in the evening, but not sufficiently late and that's not the point!" "That's not the point," repeated Liudmila, frowning. "What then?" asked the mother, drawing up to them. "The point is to do it well; and I'll do it all right." Liudmila looked fixedly at her, and chafing her forehead, remarked: "It's dangerous for you."
Liudmila slowly walked away from the bed, stopped at the window and stared into space. "He's dead!" she said in an unusually loud voice unfamiliar to Vlasova. She bent down, put her elbows on the window sill, and repeated in dry, startled tones: "He's dead! He died calmly, like a man, without complaint."
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