According to his wont, Mayakin was carried away by the exposition of his practical philosophy, but he realised in time that a conquered man is not to be taught how to fight, and he stopped short. Foma cast at him a dull glance, and shook his head strangely. “Lamb!” said Mayakin. “Leave me alone!” entreated Foma, plaintively. “It’s all yours! Well, what else do you want? Well, you crushed me, bruised me, that serves me right! Who am I? O Lord!” All listened attentively to his words, and in that attention there was something prejudiced, something malicious. “I have lived,” said Foma in a heavy voice. “I have observed. I have thought; my heart has become wounded with thoughts! And here--the abscess burst. Now I am utterly powerless! As though all my blood had gushed out. I have lived until this day, and still thought that now I will speak the truth. Well, I have spoken it.” He talked monotonously, colourlessly, and his speech resembled that of one in delirium. “I have spoken it, and I have only emptied myself, that’s all. Not a trace have my words left behind them. Everything is uninjured. And within me something blazed up; it has burned out, and there’s nothing more there. What have I to hope for now? And everything remains as it was.” Yakov Tarasovich burst into bitter laughter. “What then, did you think to lick away a mountain with your tongue? You armed yourself with malice enough to fight a bedbug, and you started out after a bear, is that it? Madman! If your father were to see you now. Eh!” “And yet,” said Foma, suddenly, loudly, with assurance, and his eyes again flared up, “and yet it is all your fault! You have spoiled life! You have made everything narrow. We are suffocating because of you! And though my truth against you is weak, it is truth, nevertheless! You are godless wretches! May you all be cursed!” He moved about in his chair, attempting to free his hands, and cried out, flashing his eyes with fury: “Unbind my hands!” They came closer to him; the faces of the merchants became more severe, and Reznikov said to him impressively: “Don’t make a noise, don’t be bothersome! We’ll soon be in town. Don’t disgrace yourself, and don’t disgrace us either. We are not going to take you direct from the wharf to the insane asylum.” “So!” exclaimed Foma. “So you are going to put me into an insane asylum?” No one replied. He looked at their faces and hung his head. “Behave peacefully! We’ll unbind you!” said someone. “It’s not necessary!” said Foma in a low voice. “It’s all the same. I spit on it! Nothing will happen.” And his speech again assumed the nature of a delirium.