Not in fire, but
in boiling mud you shall be scorched. Your sufferings shall last
for centuries. The devils will hurl you into a boiler and will
pour into it--ha, ha, ha! they'll pour into it--ha, ha, ha!
Honourable merchant class! Builders of Life. Oh, you devils!"
Foma burst into ringing laughter, and, holding his sides,
staggered, tossing his head up high.
At that moment several men quickly exchanged glances,
simultaneously rushed on Foma and downed him with their weight. A
racket ensued.
"Now you're caught!" ejaculated some one in a suffocating voice.
"Ah! Is that the way you're doing it?" cried Foma, hoarsely.
For about a half a minute a whole heap of black bodies bustled
about on one spot, heavily stamping their feet, and dull
exclamations were heard:
"Throw him to the ground!"
"Hold his hand, his hand! Oh!"
"By the beard?"
"Get napkins, bind him with napkins."
"You'll bite, will you?"
"So! Well, how's it? Aha!"
"Don't strike! Don't dare to strike."
"Ready!"
"How strong he is!"
"Let's carry him over there toward the side.
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