Three minutes or so passed thus. Suddenly the voice of the warder resounded in their ears:
"Now, you devils! what are you about there?"
The prisoners did not leave off the tormenting process immediately. One by one they slowly tore themselves away from Zazubrina, and as each one of them went away, he gave him a parting kick.
When they had all gone, he still remained lying on the ground. He lay on his stomach, and his shoulders were all shivering—no doubt he was weeping—and he kept on coughing and hawking. Presently, very cautiously, as if fearing to fall to pieces, he slowly began to raise himself from the ground, leaning heavily on his left arm, then bending one leg beneath him, and whining like a sick dog, sat down on the ground.
"You're pretending!" screeched the red-haired man in a threatening voice. Then Zazubrina made an effort, and quickly stood on his feet.
Then he tottered to one of the walls of the prison. One arm was pressed close to his breast, with the other he groped his way along. There he now stood, holding on to the wall with his hand, his head hanging down towards the ground. He coughed repeatedly.
I saw how dark drops were falling on to the ground; they also glistened quite plainly on the grey ground of the prison wall.
And so as not to defile with his blood the official place of detention, Zazubrina kept on doing his best to make it drip on the ground, so that not a single drop should fall on the wall.
How they did laugh and jeer at him to be sure....
From henceforth the kitten vanished. And Zazubrina no longer had a rival to divide with him the attention of the prisoners.