"We need not tell you." "Yes," answered Paul; "I know him." He would not defend himself.
"There," he went on, addressing the man whose hand was now bandaged.
"You will do.

Keep clean and sober, and it will heal.

Get drunk and go dirty, and you will die.

Do you understand, Ivan Ivanovitch ?" The man grunted sullenly, and moved away to give place to a woman with a baby in her arms.
Paul glanced into her face.

He had known her a few years earlier a happy child playing at her mother's cottage door.
She drew back the shawl that covered her child, with a faint, far-off gleam of pride in her eyes.