"And how are matters here?" he asked, with his mouth full.
When Andrey cheerfully recounted to him the growth the socialist
propaganda in the factory, he again grew morose and remarked dully:
"It takes too long! Too long, entirely! It ought go faster!"
The mother regarded him, and was seized with a feeling of hostility
toward this man.
"Life is not a horse; you can't set it galloping with a whip," said Andrey.
But Vyesovshchikov stubbornly shook his head, and proceeded:
"It's slow! I haven't the patience. What am I to do?" He opened
his arms in a gesture of helplessness, and waited for a response.
"We all must learn and teach others. That's our business!" said
Andrey, bending his head.
Vyesovshchikov asked:
"And when are we going to fight?"
"There'll be more than one butchery of us up to that time, that I
know!" answered the Little Russian with a smile. "But when we shall
be called on to fight, that I don't know! First, you see, we must
equip the head, and then the hand. That's what I think."
"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.
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