'"
The mother listened to Nikolay's quiet words without understanding
them, and without desiring to understand. Her bosom echoed with her
reminiscences, and she wanted more music. Side by side with her
memories the thought unfolded itself before her: "Here live people,
a brother and sister, in friendship; they live peacefully and calmly
--they have music and books--they don't swear at each other--they
don't drink whisky--they don't quarrel for a relish--they have no
desire to insult each other, the way all the people at the bottom do."
Sofya quickly lighted a cigarette; she smoked almost without intermission.
"This used to be the favorite piece of Kostya," she said, as a veil
of smoke quickly enveloped her. She again struck a low mournful
chord. "How I used to love to play for him! You remember how well
he translated music into language?" She paused and smiled. "How
sensitive he was! What fine feelings he had--so responsive to
everything--so fully a man!"
"She must be recalling memories of her husband," the mother noted,
"and she smiles!"
"How much happiness that man gave me!" said Sofya in a low voice,
accompanying her words with light sounds on the keys.
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