"I did not
murder nor steal; I simply am not in agreement with an order of
life in which people are compelled to rob and kill one another."
"Answer briefly--yes or no?" the old man said with an effort,
but distinctly.
On the benches back of her the mother felt there was animation; the
people began to whisper to one another about something and stirred,
sighing as if freeing themselves from the cobweb spun about them by
the gray words of the porcelain-faced man.
"Do you hear how they speak?" whispered Sizov.
"Yes."
"Fedor Mazin, answer!"
"I don't want to!" said Fedya clearly, jumping to his feet. His
face reddened with excitation, his eyes sparkled. For some reason
he hid his hands behind his back.
Sizov groaned softly, and the mother opened her eyes wide in astonishment.
"I declined a defense--I'm not going to say anything--I don't regard
your court as legal! Who are you? Did the people give you the
right to judge us? No, they did not! I don't know you." He sat
down and concealed his heated face behind Andrey's shoulders.
The fat judge inclined his head to the old judge and whispered
something. The old judge, pale-faced, raised his eyelids and
slanted his eyes at the prisoners, then extended his hand on the
table, and wrote something in pencil on a piece of paper lying
before him.
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