28/58 One of them, a gray-haired little old man with rosy cheeks and small mouse eyes, suddenly turned toward the merchants, who had been abused by Foma, and said in a sweet voice: "These are words from the conscience! That's nothing! You must endure it. That's a prophetic accusation. To tell the truth we are very--" He was hissed, and Zubov even jostled him on the shoulder. He made a low bow and disappeared in the crowd. |