While trying to
recall them she moved aside from the people, and noticed that
somebody was looking at her--a young man with a light mustache.
He held his right hand in the pocket of his trousers, which made
his left shoulder seem lower than the right, and this peculiarity
of his figure seemed familiar to the mother. But he turned from her,
and she again lost herself in the endeavor to recollect, and forgot
about him immediately. In a minute, however, her ear was caught by
the low question:
"This woman on the left?"
And somebody in a louder voice cheerfully answered:
"Yes."
She looked around. The man with the uneven shoulders stood sidewise
toward her, and said something to his neighbor, a black-bearded
fellow with a short overcoat and boots up to his knees.
Again her memory stirred uneasily, but did not yield any distinct results.
The watchman opened the door of the hall, and shouted:
"Relatives, enter; show your tickets!"
A sullen voice said lazily:
"Tickets! Like a circus!"
All the people now showed signs of a dull excitement, an uneasy
passion. They began to behave more freely, and hummed and disputed
with the watchman.
Sitting down on the bench, Sizov mumbled something to the mother.
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