Your sufferings shall last for centuries.

The devils will hurl you into a boiler and will pour into it--ha, ha, ha! they'll pour into it--ha, ha, ha! Honourable merchant class! Builders of Life.

Oh, you devils!" Foma burst into ringing laughter, and, holding his sides, staggered, tossing his head up high.
At that moment several men quickly exchanged glances, simultaneously rushed on Foma and downed him with their weight.

A racket ensued.
"Now you're caught!" ejaculated some one in a suffocating voice.
"Ah! Is that the way you're doing it ?" cried Foma, hoarsely.
For about a half a minute a whole heap of black bodies bustled about on one spot, heavily stamping their feet, and dull exclamations were heard: "Throw him to the ground!" "Hold his hand, his hand! Oh!" "By the beard ?" "Get napkins, bind him with napkins." "You'll bite, will you ?" "So! Well, how's it?
Aha!" "Don't strike! Don't dare to strike." "Ready!" "How strong he is!" "Let's carry him over there toward the side." "Out in the fresh air, ha, ha!" They dragged Foma away to one side, and having placed him against the wall of the captain's cabin, walked away from him, adjusting their costumes, and mopping their sweat-covered brows.

Fatigued by the struggle, and exhausted by the disgrace of his defeat, Foma lay there in silence, tattered, soiled with something, firmly bound, hand and foot, with napkins and towels.