"Who was swearing here at random?"
The faces of the merchants mirrored alarm, curiosity,
astonishment, reproach, and all the people began to bustle about
stupidly. Only Yakov Tarasovich alone was calm and seemed even
satisfied with what had occurred. Rising on tiptoe, with his neck
outstretched, he stared somewhere toward the end of the table,
and his eyes flashed strangely, as though he saw there something
which was pleasing to him.
"Gordyeeff" said Yona Yushkov, softly.
And all heads were turned toward the direction in which Yakov
Tarasovich was staring.
There, with his hands resting on the table, stood Foma. His face
distorted with wrath, his teeth firmly set together, he silently
surveyed the merchants with his burning, wide-open eyes. His
lower jaw was trembling, his shoulders were quivering, and the
fingers of his hands, firmly clutching the edge of the table, were
nervously scratching the tablecloth. At the sight of his wolf-
like, angry face and his wrathful pose, the merchants again
became silent for a moment.
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