She felt that behind her the crowd was getting thinner; a cold wind had blown on them and scattered them like autumn leaves.
The men around the red banner moved closer and closer together.

The faces of the soldiers were clearly seen across the entire width of the street, monstrously flattened, stretched out in a dirty yellowish band.
In it were unevenly set variously colored eyes, and in front the sharp bayonets glittered crudely.

Directed against the breasts of the people, although not yet touching them, they drove them apart, pushing one man after the other away from the crowd and breaking it up.
Behind her the mother heard the trampling noise of those who were running away.

Suppressed, excited voices cried: "Disperse, boys!" "Vlasov, run!" "Back, Pavel!" "Drop the banner, Pavel!" Vyesovshchikov said glumly.

"Give it to me! I'll hide it!" He grabbed the pole with his hand; the flag rocked backward.
"Let go!" thundered Pavel.
Nikolay drew his hand back as if it had been burned.