"I imagined I found a treasure, and became
rich, and I could endow everybody. Maybe it's only my stupidity
that's run away with me."
"Don't speak like that," said Sofya seriously. "You mustn't be ashamed."
The mother began to speak again, telling Sofya and Nikolay of
herself, her poor life, her wrongs, and patient sufferings.
Suddenly she stopped in her narrative. It seemed to her that she
was turning aside, away from herself, and speaking about somebody
else. In simple words, without malice, with a sad smile on her
lips, she drew the monotonous gray sketch of sorrowful days. She
enumerated the beatings she had received from her husband; and
herself marveled at the trifling causes that led to them and her own
inability to avert them.
The brother and sister listened to her in attentive silence, impressed
by the deep significance of the unadorned story of a human being,
who was regarded as cattle are regarded, and who, without a murmur,
for a long time felt herself to be that which she was held to be.
It seemed to them as if thousands, nay millions, of lives spoke
through her mouth. Her existence had been commonplace and simple;
but such is the simple, ordinary existence of multitudes, and her
story, assuming ever larger proportions in their eyes, took on the
significance of a symbol.
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