Bobrov laughed perplexedly, but his small eyes bored into Foma as
gimlets. And Lup Reznikov, waving his hands, hopped about
awkwardly and, short of breath, said:
"Be my witnesses. What's this! No-o! I will not forgive this!
I'll go to court. What's that?" and suddenly he screamed in a
shrill voice, out-stretching his hand toward Foma:
"Bind him!"
Foma was laughing.
"You cannot bind the truth, you can't do it! Even bound, truth
will not grow dumb!"
"Go-o-od!" drawled out Kononov in a dull, broken voice.
"See here, gentlemen of the merchant class!" rang out Mayakin's
voice. "I ask! you to admire him, that's the kind of a fellow he
is!"
One after another the merchants moved toward Foma, and on their
faces he saw wrath, curiosity, a malicious feeling of
satisfaction, fear. Some one of those modest people among whom
Foma was sitting, whispered to him:
"Give it to them. God bless you. Go ahead! That will be to
your credit."
"Robustov!" cried Foma. "What are you laughing at? What makes you
glad? You will also go to the galleys.
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