"
Natasha was now a teacher in a little town where there was a textile
mill, and Nilovna occasionally procured illegal books, proclamations,
and newspapers for her. The distribution of literature, in fact,
became the mother's occupation. Several times a month, dressed as
a nun or as a peddler of laces or small linen articles, as a rich
merchant's wife or a religious pilgrim, she rode or walked about
with a sack on her back, or a valise in her hand. Everywhere, in
the train, in the steamers, in hotels and inns, she behaved simply
and unobtrusively. She was the first to enter into conversations
with strangers, fearlessly drawing attention to herself by her kind,
sociable talk and the confident manner of an experienced person who
has seen and heard much.
She liked to speak to people, liked to listen to their stories of
life, their complaints, their perplexities, and lamentations. Her
heart was bathed in joy each time she noticed in anybody poignant
discontent with life, that discontent which, protesting against the
blows of fate, earnestly seeks to find an answer to its questions.
Before her the picture of human life unrolled itself ever wider and
more varicolored, that restless, anxious life passed in the struggle
to fill the stomach.
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