"I was thinking maybe my mother has such eyes.

You know, I keep thinking of her as alive." "You said she was dead ?" "That's my adopted mother.

I am speaking now of my real mother.

It seems to me that perhaps she may be somewhere in Kiev begging alms and drinking whisky." "Why do you think such awful things ?" "I don't know.

And the policemen pick her up on the street drunk and beat her." "Oh, you poor soul," thought the mother, and sighed.
Natasha muttered something hotly and rapidly; and again the sonorous voice of the Little Russian was heard.
"Ah, you are young yet, comrade," he said.