Broken bits of the fence were brandished; the
baleful shouts of the struggling people rose wildly.
The young man lifted his pale face, and his firm, calm voice sounded
above the storm of irritated outcries:
"Comrades! Why do you spend your strength? Our task is to arm the heads."
He conquered. Throwing away their sticks, the people dropped out
of the throng one after the other; and the mother pushed forward.
She saw how Nikolay, with his hat fallen back on his neck, thrust
aside the people, intoxicated with the commotion, and heard his
reproachful voice:
"Have you lost your senses? Calm yourselves!"
It seemed to her that one of his hands was red.
"Nikolay Ivanovich, go away!" she shouted, rushing toward him.
"Where are you going? They'll strike you there!"
She stopped. Seizing her by the shoulder, Sofya stood at her side,
hatless, her jacket open, her other hand grasping a young, light-haired
man, almost a boy. He held his hands to his bruised face, and he
muttered with tremulous lips: "Let me go! It's nothing."
"Take care of him! Take him home to us! Here's a handkerchief.
Bandage his face!" Sofya gave the rapid orders, and putting his
hand into the mother's ran away, saying:
"Get out of this place quickly, else they'll arrest you!"
The people scattered all over the cemetery.
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