Staring him straight in the face, Rybin stammered out heavily:
"Now look, people, how the beasts choke you with your own hands!
Look! Look! Think! Why does he want to beat me--why? I ask."
The peasant raised his hand and lazily struck Mikhail's face.
"Ah, Nikita! don't forget God!" subdued shouts came from the crowd.
"Strike, I say!" shouted the police commissioner, pushing the
peasant on the back of his neck.
The peasant stepped aside, and inclining his head, said sullenly:
"I won't do it again."
"What?" The face of the police commissioner quivered. He stamped
his feet, and, cursing, suddenly flung himself upon Rybin. The blow
whizzed through the air; Rybin staggered and waved his arms; with
the second blow the police commissioner felled him to the ground,
and, jumping around with a growl, he began to kick him on his breast,
his side, and his head.
The crowd set up a hostile hum, rocked, and advanced upon the police
commissioner. He noticed it and jumped away, snatching his saber
from its scabbard.
"So that's what you're up to! You're rioting, are you?"
His voice trembled and broke; it had grown husky. And he lost his
composure along with his voice.
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