"
"I plead guilty," said the Little Russian, smiling at Pavel. "Ugh!
What a force of police there is in the world!"
"All right," murmured the mother.
An alarming, crushing exhaustion came over her. It rose from within
her and made her dizzy. There was a strange alternation of sadness
and joy in her heart. She wished the afternoon whistle would sound.
They reached the square where the church stood. Around the church
within the paling a thick crowd was sitting and standing. There
were some five hundred gay youth and bustling women with children
darting around the groups like butterflies. The crowd swung from
side to side. The people raised their heads and looked into the
distance in different directions, waiting impatiently.
"Mitenka!" softly vibrated a woman's voice. "Have pity on yourself!"
"Stop!" rang out the response.
And the grave Sizov spoke calmly, persuasively:
"No, we mustn't abandon our children. They have grown wiser than
ourselves; they live more boldly. Who saved our cent for the marshes?
They did. We must remember that. For doing it they were dragged to
prison; but we derived the benefit. The benefit was for all."
The whistle blew, drowning the talk of the crowd.
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