Some smiled. More and more people came running
up--excited, bearing marks of having dressed quickly. They seethed
like black foam about Rybin, and he rocked to and fro in their midst.
Raising his hands over his head and shaking them, he called into
the crowd, which responded now by loud shouts, now by silent, greedy
attention, to the unfamiliar, daring words:
"Thank you, good people! Thank you! I stood up for you, for your
lives!" He wiped his beard and again raised his blood-covered hand.
"There's my blood! It flows for the sake of truth!"
The mother, without considering, walked down the steps, but immediately
returned, since on the ground she couldn't see Mikhail, hidden by
the close-packed crowd. Something indistinctly joyous trembled in
her bosom and warmed it.
"Peasants! Keep your eyes open for those writings; read them.
Don't believe the authorities and the priests when they tell you
those people who carry truth to us are godless rioters. The truth
travels over the earth secretly; it seeks a nest among the people.
To the authorities it's like a knife in the fire. They cannot accept
it. It will cut them and burn them. Truth is your good friend and
a sworn enemy of the authorities--that's why it hides itself.
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