"It's about women's affairs, your Honor," mumbled Marya, terrorized.
On his order to sign the search warrant the mother, with unskilled
hand, traced on the paper in printed shining letters:
"Pelagueya Nilovna, widow of a workingman."
They went away, and the mother remained standing at the window.
With her hands folded over her breast, she gazed into vacancy
without winking, her eyebrows raised. Her lips were compressed,
her jaws so tightly set that her teeth began to pain her. The oil
burned down in the lamp, the light flared up for a moment, and then
went out. She blew on it, and remained in the dark. She felt no
malice, she harbored no sense of injury in her heart. A dark, cold
cloud of melancholy settled on her breast, and impeded the beating
of her heart. Her mind was a void. She stood at the window a long
time; her feet and eyes grew weary. She heard Marya stop at the
window, and shout: "Are you asleep, Pelagueya? You unfortunate,
suffering woman, sleep! They abuse everybody, the heretics!" At
last she dropped into bed without undressing, and quickly fell into
a heavy sleep, as if she had plunged into a deep abyss.
She dreamed she saw a yellow sandy mound beyond the marsh on the
road to the city.
Pages:
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308