Pelageya waved her handkerchief and
smiled, but he knew that she was crying, shedding many painful tears.
From her tears the entire front of Foma's shirt was wet, and from
her tears, his heart, full of gloomy alarm, was sad and cold. The
figure of the woman was growing smaller and smaller, as though
melting away, and Foma, without lifting his eyes, stared at her and
felt that aside from fear for his father and sorrow for the woman,
some new, powerful and caustic sensation was awakening in his soul.
He could not name it, but it seemed to him as something like a grudge
against someone.
The crowd in the harbour blended into a close, dark and dead spot,
faceless, formless, motionless. Foma went away from the rail and
began to pace the deck gloomily.
The passengers, conversing aloud, seated themselves to drink tea;
the porters bustled about on the gallery, setting the tables;
somewhere below, on the stern, in the third class, a child was
crying, a harmonica was wailing, the cook was chopping something
with knives, the dishes were jarring-- producing a rather harsh
noise.
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