They hide themselves in chinks and
crevices, and suck their hearts out each one for himself. Their
resolution isn't strong enough to make them gather into a group."
Nikolay brought a bottle of alcohol, put coals in the samovar, and
walked away silently. Ignaty accompanied him with a curious look.
"A gentleman?"
"In this business there are no masters; they're all comrades!"
"It's strange to me," said Ignaty with a skeptical but embarrassed smile.
"What's strange?"
"This: at one end they beat you in the face; at the other they wash
your feet. Is there a middle of any kind?"
The door of the room was flung open and Nikolay, standing on the
threshold, said:
"And in the middle stand the people who lick the hands of those who
beat you in the face and suck the blood of those whose faces are
beaten. That's the middle!"
Ignaty looked at him respectfully, and after a pause said: "That's it!"
The mother sighed. "Mikhail Ivanovich also always used to say,
'That's it!' like an ax blow."
"Nilovna, you're evidently tired. Permit me--I----"
The peasant pulled his feet uneasily.
"That'll do;" said the mother, rising. "Well, Ignaty, now wash yourself.
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