The girl's cry set all in movement, but she threw herself down behind the railing as though burnt, and sobbed heart-brokenly.
"Don't torture me, let me go, for Christ's sake!"
Ilya sprang up and tried to force his way forward, but the people opposed him and before he could realize it he found himself in the corridor.
"They've stripped her soul," said the voice of the black-haired man.
Pavel, pale, and with dishevelled hair, stood against the wall, his jaw quivering. Ilya went up to him and scowled at him in anger; people stood or moved round them talking eagerly. There was a smell of tobacco smoke in the air.
"It's imprisonment! She can scream till she's tired, it's all the same."
"She confessed, little fool!"
"But they found the money."
"Why didn't she say he gave it to her."
The words buzzed about the corridor like autumn flies, and penetrated into Ilya's ears.