The Captain thought that if the teacher got up now, he would be
as tall as Paltara Taras. Then he sat by the side of the dead
man and sighed, as he remembered that they had lived together for
the last three years. Tyapa entered holding his head like a goat
which is ready to butt.
He sat down quietly and seriously on the opposite side of the
teacher's body, looked into the dark, silent face, and began to
sob.
"So . . . he is dead . . . I too shall die soon. . ."
"It is quite time for that!" said the Captain, gloomily.
"It is," Tyapa agreed. "You ought to die too. . . Anything is
better than this. . . "
"But perhaps death might be worse? How do you know?"
"It could not be worse. When you die you have only God to deal
with . . . but here you have to deal with men . . . and men--what
are they?"
"Enough! . . . Be quiet!" interrupted Kuvalda, angrily.
And in the dawn, which filled the dosshouse, a solemn stillness
reigned over all. Long and silently they sat at the feet of
their dead companion, seldom looking at him, and both plunged in
thought. Then Tyapa asked:
"Will you bury him?"
"I? No, let the police bury him!"
"You took money from Vaviloff for this petition .
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