"You and I don't believe in the anti-Christ," said the hunchback quietly.
"That doesn't matter. We are speaking of the masses. They believe in the anti-Christ. And we must point out the root of the main evil where we see it. In the doctrine of destruction—"
"He knows it himself."
"How should he? Who would tell him the truth? Nobody cast the noose of insanity around his children. And on what are their teachings based? On general poverty and discontent with poverty. And we ought to say to him straight out, 'Thou art the father, and thou art rich. Then give the riches thou hast accumulated to thy people. Thus thou wilt cut off the root of the evil, and everything will have been saved by thy hand.'"
The hunchback drew up his shoulders, and spread his mouth into a wide, thin crack.
"They'll send us to the mines for that."
Then he looked into Yevsey's face and at the master.
Klimkov listened to the reading and the conversation as to a fairytale, and felt that all the words entered his head and fixed themselves forever in his memory. With parted lips and popping eyes he looked now at one, now at the other, and did not drop his gaze even when the dark look of the hunchback fastened upon his face. He was fascinated by the proceedings.
"Anyway," said the hunchback, "this is inconvenient."
"What is it, Klimkov?" asked the Smokestack glumly.