Their eyes gleamed from darkened countenances; their teeth glistened.
Pavel appeared on the spot where Sizov and Makhotin were standing, and his voice rang out: "Comrades!" The mother saw that his face paled and his lips trembled; she involuntarily pushed forward, shoving her way through the crowd.
"Where are you going, old woman ?" She heard the angry question, and the people pushed her, but she would not stop, thrusting the crowd aside with her shoulders and elbows.

She slowly forced her way nearer to her son, yielding to the desire to stand by his side.

When Pavel had thrown out the word to which he was wont to attach a deep and significant meaning, his throat contracted in a sharp spasm of the joy of fight.

He was seized with an invincible desire to give himself up to the strength of his faith; to throw his heart to the people.

His heart kindled with the dream of truth.
"Comrades!" he repeated, extracting power and rapture from the word.
"We are the people who build churches and factories, forge chains and coin money, make toys and machines.