The sun blinded it.

It was all bruised and it disappeared, and my father said to me then: 'It is the same with man; some man bustles about to and fro, bruises himself, exhausts himself, and then throws himself anywhere, just to rest.' Hey I unbind my hands." His face turned pale, his eyes closed, his shoulders quivered.

Tattered and crumpled he rocked about in the chair, striking his chest against the edge of the table, and began to whisper something.
The merchants exchanged significant glances.

Some, nudging one another in the sides, shook their heads at Foma in silence.

Yakov Mayakin's face was dark and immobile as though hewn out of stone.
"Shall we perhaps unbind him ?" whispered Bobrov.
"When we get a little nearer." "No, it's not necessary," said Mayakin in an undertone-"We'll leave him here.