"Very well! There was
a young Jew in Kerch who wrote verses, and once he wrote:
"And the innocently slain,
Truth will raise to life again."
"He himself was killed by the police in Kerch, but that's not the
point. He knew the truth and did a great deal to spread it among
the people. So here you are one of the innocently slain. He spoke
the truth!"
"There, I am talking now," the mother continued. "I talk and do not
hear myself, don't believe my own ears! All my life I was silent, I
always thought of one thing--how to live through the day apart, how
to pass it without being noticed, so that nobody should touch me!
And now I think about everything. Maybe I don't understand your
affairs so very well; but all are near me, I feel sorry for all, and
I wish well to all. And to you, Andriusha, more than all the rest."
He took her hand in his, pressed it tightly, and quickly turned
aside. Fatigued with emotion and agitation, the mother leisurely
and silently washed the cups; and her breast gently glowed with a
bold feeling that warmed her heart.
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.
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