"Don't be uneasy--
don't be angry," he said.
These words and the stubborn folds between his brows answered her
question. "Well, what do you mean?" she muttered, drooping her
head. "What of it?" And she quickly walked away without looking
at him, in order not to betray her feelings by the tears in her eyes
and the quiver of her lips. On the road she thought that the bones
of the hand which had pressed her son's hand ached and grew heavy,
as if she had been struck on the shoulder.
At home, after thrusting the note into Nikolay's hand, she stood
before him, and waited while he smoothed out the tight little roll.
She felt a tremor of hope again; but Nikolay said:
"Of course, this is what he writes: 'We will not go away, comrade;
we cannot, not one of us. We should lose respect for ourselves.
Take into consideration the peasant recently arrested. He has
merited your solicitude; he deserves that you expend much time and
energy on him. It's very hard for him here--daily collisions with
the authorities. He's already had the twenty-four hours of the dark
cell. They torture him to death. We all intercede for him. Soothe
and be kind to my mother; tell her; she'll understand all.
Pages:
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528