Samoylov's
mother stirred on the bench, nudging her with her shoulder and
elbow, and said to her husband in a subdued whisper:
"How is this, now? Is it possible?"
"You see, it's possible."
"But what is going to happen to him, to Vasily?"
"Keep still. Stop."
The public was jarred by something it did not understand. All
blinked in perplexity with blinded eyes, as if dazzled by the sudden
blazing up of an object, indistinct in outline, of unknown meaning,
but with horrible drawing power. And since the people did not
comprehend this great thing dawning on them, they contracted its
significance into something small, the meaning of which was, evident
and clear to them. The elder Bukin, therefore, whispered aloud
without constraint:
"Say, please, why don't they permit them to talk? The prosecuting
attorney can say everything, and as much as he wants to----"
A functionary stood at the benches, and waving his hands at the
people, said in a half voice:
"Quiet, quiet!"
The father of Samoylov threw himself back, and ejaculated broken
words behind his wife's ear:
"Of course--let us say they are guilty--but you'll let them explain.
What is it they have gone against? Against everything--I wish to
understand--I, too, have my interest.
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