Silently he indulged his wounded spirit in a feeling of immense moral
and mental remoteness. He did not even smile when he heard her repeat
the words--
"Yes! A strong character."
He continued to gaze through the bars like a moody prisoner, not
thinking of escape, but merely pondering upon the faded memories of
freedom.
"If you don't look out," he mumbled, still looking away, "you shall
certainly miss seeing as much as the mere ghost of that tea."
She was not to be shaken off in such a way. As a matter of fact he had
not expected to succeed.
"Never mind, it will be no great loss. I mean the missing of her tea and
only the ghost of it at that. As to the lady, you must understand that
she has her positive uses. See _that_, Razumov."
He turned his head at this imperative appeal and saw the woman
revolutionist making the motions of counting money into the palm of her
hand.
"That's what it is. You see?"
Razumov uttered a slow "I see," and returned to his prisoner-like gazing
upon the neat and shady road.
"Material means must be obtained in some way, and this is easier than
breaking into banks. More certain too. There! I am joking.... What is
he muttering to himself now?" she cried under her breath.
"My admiration of Peter Ivanovitch's devoted self-sacrifice, that's all.
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