stifle some worm gnawing within? or indeed was it a desire to show off before the comrades he was meeting again? . . . or had Markelov's words really influenced him─fired his blood? Till the very dawn the conversation continued; Ostrodumov and Mashurina did not stir from their seats, while Markelov and Nezhdanov did not sit down. Markelov stood on the same spot, for all the world like a sentinel, while Nezhdanov kept walking up and down the room with unequal steps, now slowly, now hurriedly. They talked of the measures and means to be employed, of the part each ought to take on himself; they examined and tied up in parcels various tracts and leaflets; they referred to a merchant, a dissenter, one Golushkin, a very trustworthy though uneducated man; to the young propagandist, Kislyakov, who was, they said, very able, though over hasty, and had too high an opinion of his own talents; the name of Solomin, too, was mentioned.. . .
'Is that the man who manages a cotton factory?' inquired Nezhdanov, remembering what had been said of him at the Sipyagins' table.
'Yes, that is he,' answered Markelov; 'you must get to know him. We have not tested him thoroughly yet, but he's a capable, very capable, fellow.'
Eremey of Goloplyok again figured in the
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