"It's you that I'm going to destroy," Yevsey made the mental threat, gnashing his teeth until they pained him. But when he had left the gate behind him, he was seized by the debilitating consciousness of his impotence and nothingness. It was a long time since he had experienced these feelings with such crushing distinctness. He was frightened by their load, and succumbed to their pressure. "Maybe it will still be warded off," he tried to embolden himself. "Maybe he won't succeed." But Yevsey did not believe his own thoughts. Without a will of his own he regarded everybody else as equally devoid of will, and he knew that Sasha could easily compel all whom he wanted to compel to submit to his domination. CHAPTER XXVII The next day Yevsey resolved not to leave the house for a long time. He lay in bed looking at the ceiling. The leaden face of Sasha with the dim eyes and the band of red pimples on the forehead floated before him. To-day this face recalled his childhood and the sinister disk of the moon in the mist over the marsh. As he lay there, empty, languid, and cold, he gave himself over to grief at his shattered dreams, the dreams that Sasha so easily crushed. His hatred of the spy deepening, he felt himself capable of biting him with his teeth, of gouging out his eyes. It occurred to him that some of his comrades might come to fetch him, and he hurriedly left the house, and ran down several streets. Tiring almost immediately he stopped and waited for a car. People passed by in a continuous stream. He scented something new in them to-day, and did violence to himself in examining them closely. Soon he realized that this new thing was the old fear so well known to him. It was the old dread and perplexity. People looked around distrustfully, suspiciously, no longer with the kind expression their eyes had recently worn. Their voices sounded lower, and betrayed anger, resentment, sorrow. Their talk was of the horrible. Two persons stationed themselves near Yevsey. One of them, a stout shaven man, asked of the other, who had a large black beard: "How many were killed?" "Five. Sixteen wounded." "Did the Cossacks shoot?" "Yes. A boy was killed, a student at the high school." Yevsey looked at them, and inquired drily: "What for?" The man with the black beard shrugged his shoulders, and answered reluctantly in a low voice: "They say the Cossacks were drunk." "Sasha arranged that," thought Yevsey. "And on the Spassky Bridge the mob beat a student, and threw him into the river," announced the shaven man, drawing a deep breath. "What for?" Yevsey asked again. "I don't know. Some sort of patriots." The black-bearded man explained: "Since this morning tramps waving tri-colored flags and carrying portraits of the Czar have been marching the streets and beating the decently clad people." "Sasha!" Yevsey repeated to himself. "They say it was organized by the police and the Department of Safety."