These problems were always agitating the comrades; their
lives revolved about them. Often they angrily disagreed, blamed one
another for something, got offended, and again discussed.
The mother felt that she knew the life of the workingmen better than
these people, and saw more clearly than they the enormity of the
task they assumed. She could look upon them with the somewhat
melancholy indulgence of a grown-up person toward children who play
man and wife without understanding the drama of the relation.
Sometimes Sashenka came. She never stayed long, and always spoke
in a businesslike way without smiling. She did not once fail to
ask on leaving how Pavel Mikhaylovich was.
"Is he well?" she would ask.
"Thank God! So, so. He's in good spirits."
"Give him my regards," the girl would request, and then disappear.
Sometimes the mother complained to Sashenka because Pavel was
detained so long and no date was yet set for his trial. Sashenka
looked gloomy, and maintained silence, her fingers twitching.
Nilovna was tempted to say to her: "My dear girl, why, I know you
love him, I know." But Sashenka's austere face, her compressed
lips, and her dry, businesslike manner, which seemed to betoken a
desire for silence as soon as possible, forbade any demonstration
of sentiment.
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