“And he?”
“The old man?”
“Do you hear, he is moaning?”
“Help!”
Both of them, pale, were looking at the wall. Volodya’s hands shook, the old man fell.
His mother was the first to arouse herself.
“And now it’s time to work,” she said.
XXX
It was morning. Volodya’s mother was alone. Rapt in her confused, dismal thoughts, she was walking from one room to another. Her shadow outlined itself vaguely on the white door in the light of the mist-dimmed sun. She stopped at the door and lifted her arm with a large, curious movement. The shadow on the door wavered and began to murmur something familiar and sad. A strange feeling of comfort came over Eugenia Stepanovna as she stood, a wild smile on her face, before the door and moved both her hands, watching the trembling shadows.
Then she heard Praskovya coming, and she realized that she was doing an absurd thing. Once more she felt afraid and sad.