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Updated: June 28, 2025
"The heart!" said Nikolay laconically. "And the heart, too." Nikolay became silent, and began to eat again. From the corner of her eye the mother stealthily regarded his broad, pockmarked face, endeavoring to find something in it to reconcile her to the unwieldy, square figure of Vyesovshchikov. Her eyebrows fluttered whenever she encountered the shooting glance of his little eyes.
"The people are all out on the street, their faces sharp as the edge of an ax. Vyesovshchikov, the Gusevs, and Samoylov have been standing at the factory gates all the time, and have been making speeches. Most of the people went back from the factory, and returned home. Let's go! It's just time! It's ten o'clock already." "I'm going!" said Pavel decidedly.
The Little Russian listened and nodded his head in accompaniment to her words. Vyesovshchikov, the red-haired fellow, and the other factory worker, who had come with Pavel, stood in a close circle of three. For some reason the mother did not like them. When Natasha ceased talking, Pavel arose and asked calmly: "Is filling our stomachs the only thing we want?"
Good-by, Nikolay!" said Pavel warmly and softly, pressing his comrades' hands. "That's it! Until we meet again!" the officer scoffed. Vyesovshchikov silently pressed Pavel's hands with his short fingers and breathed heavily. The blood mounted to his thick neck; his eyes flashed with rancor. The Little Russian's face beamed with a sunny smile.
Nikolay declared, shaking his head. "Why, how can you insult me?" asked the Little Russian, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know," said Vyesovshchikov, grinning good-naturedly or perhaps condescendingly. "I only wanted to say that a man must feel mighty ashamed of himself after he'd insulted you." "There now! See where you got to!" laughed the Little Russian.
She wanted so much to hear more about the possibility of an escape. "I must see Vyesovshchikov," said Nikolay. "All right. To-morrow I'll tell you when and where," replied Sasha. "What is he going to do?" asked Sofya, pacing through the room. "It's been decided to make him compositor in a new printing place. Until then he'll stay with the forester." Sasha's brow lowered.
He clapped his hand to his breast, and with a weak movement began to rub it. "You've gotten very sick, Yegor Ivanovich," said Nikolay gloomily, drooping his head. The mother sighed and cast an anxious glance about the little, crowded room. "That's my own affair. Granny, you ask about Pavel. No reason to feign indifference," said Yegor. Vyesovshchikov smiled broadly.
Leaflets appeared in the factory explaining the significance of this holiday, and even the young men not affected by the propaganda said, as they read them: "Yes, we must arrange a holiday!" Vyesovshchikov exclaimed with a sullen grin: "It's time! Time we stopped playing hide and seek!" Fedya Mazin was in high spirits. He had grown very thin.
"I had a whole night's talk with Vyesovshchikov. I didn't use to like him. He seemed rude and dull. Undoubtedly that's what he was. A dark, immovable irritation at everybody lived in him. He always used to place himself, as it were, like a dead weight in the center of things, and wrathfully say, 'I, I, I. There was something bourgeois in this, low, and exasperating."
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