"Boys! don't permit it! They'll
take him in there and beat him to death, and then they'll say we
killed him. Don't permit it!"
"Peasants!" the powerful voice of Rybin roared, drowning the shouts
of the sergeant. "Don't you understand your life? Don't you
understand how they rob you--how they cheat you--how they drink your
blood? You keep everything up; everything rests on you; you are all
the power that is at the bottom of everything on earth--its whole
power. And what rights have you? You have the right to starve--
it's your only right!"
"He's speaking the truth, I tell YOU!"
Some men shouted:
"Call the commissioner of police! Where is the commissioner of police?"
"The sergeant has ridden away for him!"
"It's not our business to call the authorities!"
The noise increased as the crowd grew louder and louder.
"Speak! We won't let them beat you!"
"Officers, untie his hands!"
"No, brothers; that's not necessary!"
"Untie him!"
"Look out you don't do something you'll, be sorry for!"
"I am sorry for my hands!" Rybin said evenly and resonantly, making
himself heard above all the other voices. "I'll not escape, peasants.
I cannot hide from my truth; it lives inside of me!"
Several men walked away from the crowd, formed different circles,
and with earnest faces and shaking their heads carried on
conversations.
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