God grant it!" And he walked away.
"Yes, you may as well die straight off!" murmured Rybin.

"You are no men, now.

You are only putty--good to fill cracks with, that's all! Did you see, Pavel, who it was that shouted to make you a delegate?
It was those who call you socialist--agitator--yes!--thinking you'd be discharged, and it would serve you right!" "They are right, according to their lights!" said Pavel.
"So are wolves when they tear one another to pieces!" Rybin's face was sullen, his voice unusually tremulous.
The whole day Pavel felt ill at ease, as if he had lost something, he did not know what, and anticipated a further loss.
At night when the mother was asleep and he was reading in bed, gendarmes appeared and began to search everywhere--in the yard, in the attic.

They were sullen; the yellow-faced officer conducted himself as on the first occasion, insultingly, derisively, delighting in abuse, endeavoring to cut down to the very heart.

The mother, in a corner, maintained silence, never removing her eyes from her son's face.