"But it's disgust. It disgusts me to carry such
dirt inside of me. I had no need of it. It wasn't called for."
"What do you think of doing?" asked Pavel, giving him a suspicious look.
"What am I going to do?" the Little Russian repeated thoughtfully,
drooping his head. Then raising it again he said with a smile:
"I am not afraid, of course, to say that it was I who struck him.
But I am ashamed to say it. I am ashamed to go to prison, and even
to hard labor, maybe, for such a--nothing. If some one else is
accused, then I'll go and confess. But otherwise, go all of my own
accord--I cannot!"
He waved his hands, rose, and repeated:
"I cannot! I am ashamed!"
The whistle blew. The Little Russian, bending his head to one side,
listened to the powerful roar, and shaking himself, said:
"I am not going to work."
"Nor I," said Pavel.
"I'll go to the bath house," said the Little Russian, smiling. He
got ready in silence and walked off, sullen and low-spirited.
The mother followed him with a compassionate look.
"Say what you please, Pasha, I cannot believe him! And even if I
did believe him, I wouldn't lay any blame on him. No, I would not.
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