"At the funeral the police got up a fight and arrested one man,"
the mother continued in her simple-hearted way.
The thin-lipped assistant overseer of the prison jumped from his
chair and mumbled quickly:
"Cut that out; it's forbidden! Why don't you understand? You know
politics are prohibited."
The mother also rose from her chair, and as if failing to comprehend
him, she said guiltily:
"I wasn't discussing politics. I was telling about a fight--and
they did fight; that's true. They even broke one fellow's head."
"All the same, please keep quiet--that is to say, keep quiet about
everything that doesn't concern you personally--your family; in
general, your home."
Aware that his speech was confused, he sat down in his chair and
arranged papers.
"I'm responsible for what you say," he said sadly and wearily.
The mother looked around and quickly thrust the note into Pavel's
hand. She breathed a deep sigh of relief.
"I don't know what to speak about."
Pavel smiled:
"I don't know either."
"Then why pay visits?" said the overseer excitedly. "They have
nothing to say, but they come here anyhow and bother me."
"Will the trial take place soon?" asked the mother after a pause.
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