"You waste your powder for nothing, Liudmila!" Nikolay tried to
soothe her. "They don't hear you."
"Some day I'll compel them to hear me!"
The black circles under her eyes trembled and threw an ominous
shadow on her face. She bit her lips.
"You go against me--that's your right; I'm your enemy. But in
defending your power don't corrupt people; don't compel me to have
instinctive contempt for them; don't dare to poison my soul with
your cynicism!"
Nikolay looked at her through his glasses, and screwing up his eyes,
shook his head sadly. But she continued to speak as if those whom
she detested stood before her. The mother listened with strained
attention, understanding nothing, and instinctively repeating to
herself one and the same words, "The trial--the trial will come off
in a week!"
She could not picture to herself what it would be like; how the
judges would behave toward Pavel. Her thoughts muddled her brain,
covered her eyes with a gray mist, and plunged her into something
sticky, viscid, chilling and paining her body. The feeling grew,
entered her blood, took possession of her heart, and weighed it
down heavily, poisoning in it all that was alive and bold.
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