Everybody was
in a hurry to give his opinion about life; but all spoke in a
half-subdued voice, and the mother noticed a tone of hostility in
all, which was new to her. At home they spoke differently, more
intelligibly, more simply, and more loudly.
The fat warden with a square red beard called out her name, looked
her over from head to foot, and telling her to follow him, walked
off limping. She followed him, and felt like pushing him to make
him go faster. Pavel stood in a small room, and on seeing his
mother smiled and put out his hand to her. She grasped it, laughed,
blinked swiftly, and at a loss for words merely asked softly:
"How are you? How are you?"
"Compose yourself, mother." Pavel pressed her hand.
"It's all right! It's all right!"
"Mother," said the warden, fetching a sigh, "suppose you move away
from each other a bit. Let there be some distance between you."
He yawned aloud.
Pavel asked the mother about her health and about home. She waited
for some other questions, sought them in her son's eyes, but could
not find them. He was calm as usual, although his face had grown
paler, and his eyes seemed larger.
"Sasha sends you her regards," she said.
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