"Rest."
The mother and Sofya went to the dining room and conversed there in
subdued voices about the events of the day. They already regarded
the drama of the burial as something remote, and looked with assurance
toward the future in deliberating on the work of the morrow. Their
faces wore a weary expression, but their thoughts were bold.
They spoke of their dissatisfaction with themselves. Nervously
moving in his chair and gesticulating animatedly the physician,
dulling his thin, sharp voice with an effort, said:
"Propaganda! propaganda! There's too little of it now. The young
workingmen are right. We must extend the field of agitation. The
workingmen are right, I say."
Nikolay answered somberly:
"From everywhere come complaints of not enough literature, and
we still cannot get a good printing establishment. Liudmila is
wearing herself out. She'll get sick if we don't see that she
gets assistance."
"And Vyesovshchikov?" asked Sofya.
"He cannot live in the city. He won't be able to go to work until
he can enter the new printing establishment. And one man is still
needed for it."
"Won't I do?" the mother asked quietly.
All three looked at her in silence for a short while.
Pages:
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436