"What's that to you?" asked Andrey, turning a curious look upon him.
"Sashenka says the face is the mirror of the heart!" Nikolay replied, bringing out the words slowly.
"It's not true, though!" the little Russian ejaculated. "She has a nose like a mushroom, cheek bones like a pair of scissors; yet her heart is like a bright little star."
They sat down to drink tea.
Vyesovshchikov took a big potato, heavily salted a slice of bread, and began to chew slowly and deliberately, like an ox.
"And how are matters here?" he asked, with his mouth full.
When Andrey cheerfully recounted to him the growth of the socialist propaganda in the factory, he again grew morose and remarked dully:
"It takes too long! Too long, entirely! It ought to go faster!"
The mother regarded him, and was seized with a feeling of hostility toward this man.
"Life is not a horse; you can't set it galloping with a whip," said Andrey.