He turned pale, his face sharpened, and his nostrils quivered.
"I was afraid the officer might strike me. He has a black beard, he's stout, his fingers are hairy, and he wears dark glasses, so that he looks as if he were without eyes. He shouted and stamped his feet. He said I'd rot in prison. And I've never been beaten either by my father or mother; they love me because I'm their only son. Everyone gets beaten everywhere, but I never!"
He closed his eyes for a moment, compressed his lips, tossed his hair back with a quick gesture of both hands, and looking at Pavel with reddening eyes, said:
"If anybody ever strikes me, I will thrust my whole body into him like a knife—I will bite my teeth into him—I'd rather he'd kill me at once and be done!"
"To defend yourself is your right," said Pavel. "But take care not to attack!"
"You are delicate and thin," observed the mother. "What do you want with fighting?"
"I will fight!" answered Fedya in a low voice.
When he left, the mother said to Pavel:
"This young man will go down sooner than all the rest."
Pavel was silent.