With a sigh the mother mutely clasped the hand that
the girl extended to her, and thought: "My unhappy girl!"
Once Natasha came. She showed great delight at seeing the mother,
kissed her, and among other things announced to her quietly, as if
she had just thought of the thing:
"My mother died. Poor woman, she's dead!" She wiped her eyes with
a rapid gesture of her hands, and continued: "I'm sorry for her.
She was not yet fifty. She had a long life before her still. But
when you look at it from the other side you can't help thinking
that death is easier than such a life--always alone, a stranger to
everybody, needed by no one, scared by the shouts of my father.
Can you call that living? People live waiting for something good,
and she had nothing to expect except insults."
"You're right, Natasha," said the mother musingly. "People live
expecting some good, and if there's nothing to expect, what sort
of a life is it?" Kindly stroking Natasha's hand, she asked: "So
you're alone now?"
"Alone!" the girl rejoined lightly.
The mother was silent, then suddenly remarked with a smile:
"Never mind! A good person does not live alone. People will always
attach themselves to a good person.
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