"
The young man arose, shifted his feet about, and stepped firmly
on the floor.
"They seem like new feet. Thank you! Many, many thanks!"
He drew a wry face, his lips trembled, and his eyes reddened. After
a pause, during which he regarded the basin of black water, he
whispered softly:
"I don't even know how to thank you!"
Then they sat down to the table to drink tea. And Ignaty soberly began:
"I was the distributor of literature, a very strong fellow at walking.
Uncle Mikhail gave me the job. 'Distribute!' says he; 'and if you
get caught you're alone.'"
"Do many people read?" asked Nikolay.
"All who can. Even some of the rich read. Of course, they don't
get it from us. They'd clap us right into chains if they did! They
understand that this is a slipknot for them in all ages."
"Why a slipknot?"
"What else!" exclaimed Ignaty in amazement. "Why, the peasants are
themselves going to take the land from everyone else. They'll wash
it out with their blood from under the gentry and the rich; that is
to say, they themselves are going to divide it, and divide it so
that there won't be masters or workingmen anymore. How then?
What's the use of getting into a scrap if not for that?"
Ignaty even seemed to be offended.
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