Inharmonious at first, it swelled and grew until it rolled
in a huge, powerful wave through the invigorating nocturnal air,
above the deserted field.
"My God!" said Yozhov, sadly and softly, heaving a sigh. "Whereby
are we to live? Whereon fasten our soul? Who shall quench its
thirsts for friendship brotherhood, love, for pure and sacred
toil?"
"These simple people," said Foma, slowly and pensively, without
listening to his companion s words, absorbed as he was in his own
thoughts, "if one looks into these people, they're not so bad!
It's even very--it is interesting. Peasants, labourers, to look
at them plainly, they are just like horses. They carry burdens,
they puff and blow."
"They carry our life on their backs," exclaimed Yozhov with
irritation. "They carry it like horses, submissively, stupidly.
And this submissiveness of theirs is our misfortune, our curse!"
And Foma, carried away by his own thought, argued:
"They carry burdens, they toil all their life long for mere
trifles. And suddenly they say something that wouldn't come into
your mind in a century.
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