They have no concern for their faithful Judases, they care only for their shekels--only for them." And after a sullen silence, he added: "And I pity that man the more I think of him.

I didn't intend to kill him--didn't want to!" "Enough, Andrey," said Pavel severely.
"You happened to knock against something rotten, and it fell to pieces," added the mother in a low voice.
"You're right--but that's no consolation." He often spoke in this way.

In his mouth the words assumed a peculiar, universal significance, bitter and corrosive.
At last, it was the first of May! The whistle shrilled as usual, powerful and peremptory.

The mother, who hadn't slept a minute during the night, jumped out of bed, made a fire in the samovar, which had been prepared the evening before, and was about, as always, to knock at the door of her son's and Andrey's room, when, with a wave of her hand she recollected the day, and went to seat herself at the window, leaning her cheek on her hand.
Clusters of light clouds, white and rosy, sailed swiftly across the pale blue sky, like huge birds frightened by the piercing shriek of the escaping steam.

The mother watched the clouds, absorbed in herself.
Her head was heavy, her eyes dry and inflamed from the sleepless night.
A strange calm possessed her breast, her heart was beating evenly, and her mind dwelt on only common, everyday things.
"I prepared the samovar too early; it will boil away.