The other peasant also looked at her. He
was younger than he of the blue eyes, with a dark, sparse beard,
and a lean freckled face. Then both of them turned away to the
side of the steps.
"They're afraid," the mother involuntarily noted. Her attention
grew keener. From the elevation of the stoop she clearly saw the
dark face of Rybin, distinguished the hot gleam of his eyes. She
wanted that he, too, should see her, and raised herself on tiptoe
and craned her neck.
The people looked at him sullenly, distrustfully, and were silent.
Only in the rear of the crowd subdued conversation was heard.
"Peasants!" said Rybin aloud, in a peculiar full voice. "Believe
these papers! I shall now, perhaps, get death on account of them.
The authorities beat me, they tortured me, they wanted to find out
from where I got them, and they're going to beat me more. For in
these writings the truth is laid down. An honest world and the
truth ought to be dearer to us than bread. That's what I say."
"Why is he doing this?" softly exclaimed one of the peasants near
the steps. He of the blue eyes answered:
"Now it's all the same. He won't escape death, anyhow. And a man
can't die twice.
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