It seemed as if all had grown accustomed to their situation.

Some sat there quietly, others looked on idly, while still others seemed to pay their regular visits with a sense of weariness.

The mother's heart quivered with impatience, and she looked with a puzzled air at everything around her, amazed at the oppressive simplicity of life in this corner of the world.
Next to Vlasova sat a little old woman with a wrinkled face, but youthful eyes.

She kept her thin neck turned to listen to the conversation, and looked about on all sides with a strange expression of eagerness in her face.
"Whom have you here ?" Vlasova asked softly.
"A son, a student," answered the old woman in a loud, brusque voice.
"And you ?" "A son, also.

A workingman." "What's the name ?" "Vlasov." "Never heard of him.