"
The mother and Sizov walked out into the corridor.
"Will you go to the tavern with me to take some tea?" the old man
asked her solicitously. "We have an hour and a half's time."
"I don't want to."
"Well, then I won't go, either. No, say! What fellows those are!
They act as if they were the only real people, and the rest nothing
at all. They'll all go scot-free, I'm sure. Look at Fedka, eh?"
Samoylov's father came up to them holding his hat in his hand.
He smiled sullenly and said:
"My Vasily! He declined a defense, and doesn't want to palaver.
He was the first to have the idea. Yours, Pelagueya, stood for
lawyers; and mine said: 'I don't want one.' And four declined
after him. Hm, ye-es."
At his side stood his wife. She blinked frequently, and wiped her
nose with the end of her handkerchief. Samoylov took his beard in
his hand, and continued looking at the floor.
"Now, this is the queer thing about it: you look at them, those
devils, and you think they got up all this at random--they're ruining
themselves for nothing. And suddenly you begin to think: 'And maybe
they're right!' You remember that in the factory more like them
keep on coming, keep on coming.
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