"Pelagueya Nilovna, you know Marya Korsunova, the peddler."
"I do. Well?"
"Speak to her; see if you can't get her to smuggle in our wares."
"We could pay her, you know," interjected Yegor.
The mother waved her hands in negation.
"Oh, no! The woman is a chatterbox. No! If they find out it comes
from me, from this house--oh, no!"
Then, inspired by a sudden idea, she began gladly and in a low voice:
"Give it to me, give it to me. I'll manage it myself. I'll find a
way. I will ask Marya to make me her assistant. I have to earn my
living, I have to work. Don't I? Well, then, I'll carry dinners to
the factory. Yes, I'll manage it!"
Pressing her hands to her bosom, she gave hurried assurances that
she would carry out her mission well and escape detection. Finally
she exclaimed in triumph: "They'll find out--Pavel Vlasov is away,
but his arm reaches out even from jail. They'll find out!"
All three became animated. Briskly rubbing his hands, Yegor smiled
and said:
"It's wonderful, stupendous! I say, granny, it's superb--simply
magnificent!"
"I'll sit in jail as in an armchair, if this succeeds," said
Samoylov, laughing and rubbing his hands.
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