"If it didn't hit the bone, it's all right."
These people after tasting blood had apparently grown bolder. They looked around on all sides with unsatiated eyes, with greed, and assured expectation.
In the middle of the street lay a formless dark heap, from which blood was oozing into the hollows between the stones.
"That's the way—" Yevsey thought, looking at the red designs on the paving. In the dark red mist trembling before his eyes appeared the hairy face of Melnikov. His voice was tired and muffled.
"There, they've killed him!"
"Yes, how quickly!"
"They killed another one this morning."
"What for?"
"He was speaking. He was standing on the curb addressing the people. Chasin fired into his stomach."
"What for?" Yevsey repeated.