The truth you stand for, I comprehend: as long as there will be the rich, the people will get nothing, neither truth nor happiness, nothing! Indeed, that's so, Andriusha! Here am I living among you, while all this is going on.

Sometimes at night my thoughts wander off to my past.

I think of my youthful strength trampled under foot, of my young heart torn and beaten, and I feel sorry for myself and embittered.

But for all that I live better now, I see myself more and more, I feel myself more." The Little Russian arose, and trying not to scrape with his feet, began to walk carefully up and down the room, tall, lean, absorbed in thought.
"Well said!" he exclaimed in a low voice.

"Very well! There was a young Jew in Kerch who wrote verses, and once he wrote: "And the innocently slain, Truth will raise to life again." "He himself was killed by the police in Kerch, but that's not the point.