“Not everybody can afford it.”
The peasants spoke, and became silent again. A shrill whistle resounded, a little bell began to jingle at the machine. Someone’s loud exclamation rang out:
“Eh, there! To the water-measuring poles.”
“Oh Lord! Oh Queen of Heaven!”—a deep sigh was heard.
And a dull, half-choked voice shouted:
“Nine! nine!”
Fragments of the fog burst forth upon the deck and floated over it like cold, gray smoke.
“Here, kind people, give ear unto the words of King David,” said the pilgrim, and shaking his head, began to read distinctly: “‘Lead me, Oh Lord, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies; make thy way straight before my face. For there is no faithfulness in their mouths; their inward part is very wickedness; their throat is an open sepulchre; they flatter with their tongue. Destroy thou them, Oh God; let them fall by their own counsels.’”
“Eight! seven!” Like moans these exclamations resounded in the distance.
The steamer began to hiss angrily, and slackened its speed. The noise of the hissing of the steam deafened the pilgrim’s words, and Foma saw only the movement of his lips.