Some indefinite, impersonal feelings and thoughts
were springing up and vanishing within him; before him flashed the
bald skull of his godfather with a little crown of silver hair and
with a dark face, which resembled the faces of the ancient ikons.
This face with the toothless mouth and the malicious smile, rousing
in Foma hatred and fear, augmented in him the consciousness of
solitude. Then he recalled the kind eyes of Medinskaya and her small,
graceful figure; and beside her arose the tall, robust, and rosy-
cheeked Lubov Mayakina with smiling eyes and with a big light golden-
coloured braid. "Do not rely upon men, expect but little at their
hands"--his father's words began to ring in his memory. He sighed
sadly and cast a glance around him. The tree leaves were fluttering
from the rain, and the air was full of mournful sounds. The gray sky
seemed as though weeping, and on the trees cold tears were trembling.
And Foma's soul was dry, dark; it was filled with a painful feeling
of orphanhood. But this feeling gave birth to the question:
"How shall I live now that I am alone?"
The rain drenched his clothes, and when he felt that he was
shivering with cold he arose and went into the house.
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