I feel as though weights
were hanging on me, as though I were all bound. There--I must not
go, this I must not do. I want to live in freedom, that I may
know everything myself. I shall search life for myself. For,
otherwise, what am I? A prisoner! Be kind, take everything. The
devil take it all! Give me freedom, pray! What kind of a merchant
am I? I do not like anything. And so--I would forsake men--
everything. I would find a place for myself, I would find some
kind of work, and would work. By God! Father! set me at liberty!
For now, you see, I am drinking. I'm entangled with that woman."
Mayakin looked at him, listened attentively to his words, and his
face was stern, immobile as though petrified. A dull, tavern
noise smote the air, some people went past them, they greeted
Mayakin, but he saw nothing, staring fixedly at the agitated face
of his godson, who smiled distractedly, both joyously and
pitifully.
"Eh, my sour blackberry!" said Mayakin, with a sigh, interrupting
Foma's speech. "I see you've lost your way. And you're prating
nonsense.
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