This thought, rude and strange, grew more vivid the more attentively
the mother scrutinized the judges. They seemed not to conceal their
excited greed--the impotent vexation of the hungry who at one time
had been able to consume in abundance. To her, a woman and a
mother, to whom after all the body of her son is always dearer than
that in him which is called a soul, to her it was horrible to see
how these sticky, lightless eyes crept over his face, felt his
chest, shoulders, hands, tore at the hot skin, as if seeking the
possibility of taking fire, of warming the blood in their hardened
brains and fatigued muscles--the brains and muscles of people
already half dead, but now to some degree reanimated by the pricks
of greed and envy of a young life that they presumed to sentence and
remove to a distance from themselves. It seemed to her that her
son, too, felt this damp, unpleasant tickling contact, and,
shuddering, looked at her.
He looked into the mother's face with somewhat fatigued eyes, but
calmly, kindly, and warmly. At times he nodded his head to her,
and smiled--she understood the smile.
"Now quick!" she said.
Resting his hand on the table the oldest judge arose.
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