He did not feel like going to town with these people, neither did he care to stay here with them.

And they were still pacing the raft with uneven steps, shaking from side to side and muttering disconnected words.

The women were not quite as drunk as the men, and only the red-haired one could not lift herself from the bench for a long time, and finally, when she rose, she declared: "Well, I'm drunk." Foma sat down on a log of wood, and lifting the axe, with which the peasant had chopped wood for the fire, he began to play with it, tossing it up in the air and catching it.
"Oh, my God! How mean this is!" Zvantzev's capricious voice was heard.
Foma began to feel that he hated it, and him, and everybody, except Sasha, who awakened in him a certain uneasy feeling, which contained at once admiration for her and a fear lest she might do something unexpected and terrible.
"Brute!" shouted Zvantzev in a shrill voice, and Foma noticed that he struck the peasant on the chest, after which the peasant removed his cap humbly and stepped aside.
"Fo-o-ol!" cried Zvantzev, walking after him and lifting his hand.
Foma jumped to his feet and said threateningly, in a loud voice: "Eh, you! Don't touch him!" "Wha-a-at ?" Zvantzev turned around toward him.
"Stepan, come over here," called Foma.
"Peasant!" Zvantzev hurled with contempt, looking at Foma.
Foma shrugged his shoulders and made a step toward him; but suddenly a thought flashed vividly through his mind! He smiled maliciously and inquired of Stepan, softly: "The string of rafts is moored in three places, isn't it?
"In three, of course!" "Cut the connections!" "And they ?" "Keep quiet! Cut!" "But--" "Cut! Quietly, so they don't notice it!" The peasant took the axe in his hands, slowly walked up to the place where one link was well fastened to another link, struck a few times with his axe, and returned to Foma.
"I'm not responsible, your Honour," he said.
"Don't be afraid." "They've started off," whispered the peasant with fright, and hastily made the sign of the cross.

And Foma gazed, laughing softly, and experienced a painful sensation that keenly and sharply stung his heart with a certain strange, pleasant and sweet fear.
The people on the raft were still pacing to and fro, moving about slowly, jostling one another, assisting the ladies with their wraps, laughing and talking, and the raft was meanwhile turning slowly and irresolutely in the water.
"If the current carries them against the fleet," whispered the peasant, "they'll strike against the bows--and they'll be smashed into splinters." "Keep quiet!" "They'll drown!" "You'll get a boat, and overtake them." "That's it! Thank you.

What then?
They're after all human beings.
And we'll be held responsible for them." Satisfied now, laughing with delight, the peasant dashed in bounds across the rafts to the shore.