She seemed to bestow the words as a warm caress impartially
on Sofya and Nikolay and on herself.
"We people at the bottom feel everything; but it is hard for us to
speak out our hearts. Our thoughts float about in us. We are
ashamed because, although we understand, we are not able to express
them; and often from shame we are angry at our thoughts, and at
those who inspire them. We drive them away from ourselves. For
life, you see, is so troublesome. From all sides we get blows and
beatings; we want rest, and there come the thoughts that rouse our
souls and demand things of us."
Nikolay listened, and nodded his head, rubbing his eyeglasses
briskly, while Sofya looked at her, her large eyes wide open and the
forgotten cigarette burning to ashes. She sat half turned from the
piano, supple and shapely, at times touching the keys lightly with
the slender fingers of her right hand. The pensive chord blended
delicately with the speech of the mother, as she quickly invested
her new feelings and thoughts in simple, hearty words.
"Now I am able to say something about myself, about my people,
because I understand life. I began to understand it when I was
able to make comparisons.
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