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Updated: June 28, 2025
Walking up and down the room the Little Russian said: "Mother, why don't you sometimes try to befriend Vyesovshchikov and be kind to him? He is a fellow that needs it. His father sits in prison a nasty little old man. Nikolay sometimes catches sight of him through the window and he begins to swear at him. That's bad, you know. He is a good fellow, Nikolay is.
Nikolay answered somberly: "From everywhere come complaints of not enough literature, and we still cannot get a good printing establishment. Liudmila is wearing herself out. She'll get sick if we don't see that she gets assistance." "And Vyesovshchikov?" asked Sofya. "He cannot live in the city. He won't be able to go to work until he can enter the new printing establishment.
"People with well-filled stomachs are, after all, not a few, but honest people there are none," said the little Russian. "We ought to build a bridge across the bog of this rotten life to a future of soulful goodness. That's our task, that's what we have to do, comrades!" "When the time is come to fight, it's not the time to cure the finger," said Vyesovshchikov dully.
"It is time for us to sing these songs in the street," said Vyesovshchikov somberly. And sometimes the mother was struck by the spirit of lively, boisterous hilarity that took sudden possession of them. It was incomprehensible to her. It usually happened on the evenings when they read in the papers about the working people in other countries.
His short-fingered hand was thick, and covered with yellowish hair. He waved it in the air, and arose. When Andrey brought in the samovar, Vyesovshchikov was standing before the mirror, and greeted him with these words: "It's a long time since I've seen my face." Then he laughed and added: "It's an ugly face I have!" "What's that to you?" asked Andrey, turning a curious look upon him.
Vyesovshchikov always kept hurrying everybody on somewhere. He and the red-haired youth called Samoylov were the first to begin all disputes. On their side were always Ivan Bukin, with the round head and the white eyebrows and lashes, who looked as if he had been hung out to dry, or washed out with lye; and the curly-headed, lofty-browed Fedya Mazin.
All the rest Godun took on himself. Rybin will have to go through only one ward of the city. Vyesovshchikov will meet him on the street, all disguised, of course. He'll throw an overcoat over him, give him a hat, and show him the way. I'll wait for him, change his clothes and lead him off." "Not bad! And who's this Godun?" "You've seen him! You gave talks to the locksmiths in his place."
"And as for Isay Gorbov, I'll wring his head off! You shall see!" "What for?" asked the Little Russian in a quiet, earnest voice. "He shouldn't be a spy; he shouldn't go about denouncing people. It's through him my father's gone to the dogs, and it's owing to him that he now is aiming to become a spy," said Vyesovshchikov, looking at Andrey with a dark, hostile scowl.
They'll let Pavel go soon, too. I'm telling you the truth, believe me. Vyesovshchikov will be detained the longest. They are very angry at him. He scolds and swears at everybody all the time. The gendarmes can't bear to look at him. I guess he'll get himself into court, or receive a sound thrashing some day. Pavel tries to dissuade him. 'Stop, Nikolay! he says to him.
At times he opened his large gray eyes wide, as if he suffered from an intolerable pain, and was ready to scream out in impotent anguish. "Soldier!" Vyesovshchikov called out again. "Pick the books up!" All the gendarmes turned their eyes on him, then looked at the officer.
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