and feeling that he would be understood because
Yozhov wanted to understand him.

"You are a curious fellow!" said Yozhov, about two days after their
meeting. "And though you speak with difficulty, one feels that there is
a great deal in you--great daring of heart! If you only knew a little
about the order of life! Then you would speak loud enough, I think.
Yes!"

"But you cannot wash yourself clean with words, nor can you then free
yourself," remarked Foma, with a sigh. "You have said something about
people who pretend that they know everything, and can do everything. I
also know such people. My godfather, for instance. It would be a
good thing to set out against them, to convict them; they're a pretty
dangerous set!"

"I cannot imagine, Foma, how you will get along in life if you preserve
within you that which you now have," said Yozhov, thoughtfully.

"It's very hard. I lack steadfastness. Of a sudden I could perhaps do
something. I understand very well that life is difficult and narrow for
every one of us. I know that my godfather sees that, too! But he profits
by this narrowness. He feels well in it; he is sharp as a needle, and
he'll make his way wherever he pleases. But I am a big, heavy man,
that's why I am suffocating! That's why I live in fetters. I could free
myself from everything with a single effort: just to move my body with
all my strength, and then all the fetters will burst!"

"And what then?" asked Yozhov.

"Then?" Foma became pensive, and, after a moment's thought, waved his
hand. "I don't know what will be then. I shall see!"

"We shall see!" assented Yozhov.

He was given to drink, this little man who was scalded by life. His
day began thus: in the morning at his tea he looked over the local
newspapers and drew from the news notices material for his feuilleton,
which he wrote right then and there on the corner of the table. Then he
ran to the editorial office, where he made up "Provincial Pictures"
out of clippings from country newspapers. On Friday he had to write
his Sunday feuilleton. For all they paid him a hundred and twenty-five
roubles a month; he worked fast, and devoted all his leisure time to
the "survey and study of charitable institutions." Together with Foma he
strolled about the clubs, hotels and taverns till late at night, drawing
material everywhere for his articles, which he called "brushes for
the cleansing of the conscience of society." The censor he styled as
"superin