His gold watch fell out of the pocket and dangled on the chain,
over his round paunch. Intoxicated with his own strength and with
the degradation of the sedate man, filled with the burning feeling
of malignancy, trembling with the happiness of revenge, Foma
dragged him along the floor and in a dull voice, growled wickedly,
in wild joy. In these moments he experienced a great feeling--the
feeling of emancipation from the wearisome burden which had long
oppressed his heart with grief and morbidness. He felt that he was
seized by the waist and shoulders from behind, that someone seized
his hand and bent it, trying to break it; that someone was crushing
his toes; but he saw nothing, following with his bloodshot eyes the
dark, heavy mass moaning and wriggling in his hand. Finally, they
tore him away and downed him, and, as through a reddish mist, he
noticed before him on the floor, at his feet, the man he had
thrashed. Dishevelled, he was moving his legs over the floor,
attempting to rise; two dark men were holding him by the arms, his
hands were dangling in the air like broken wings, and, in a voice
that was choking with sobs, he cried to Foma:
"You mustn't beat me! You mustn't! I have an.
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