Resurrection

Nekhludoff thought he saw Maslova smile here, and this seemed

disgusting to him. A strange, indefinite feeling of loathing,

mingled with suffering, arose in him.

"And what was your opinion of Maslova?" asked the blushing and

confused applicant for a judicial post, appointed to act as

Maslova's advocate.

"Zee ferry pesht," answered Kitaeva. "Zee yoong voman is etucated

and elecant. She was prought up in a coot family and can reat

French. She tid have a trop too moch sometimes, put nefer forcot

herself. A ferry coot girl."

Katusha looked at the woman, then suddenly turned her eyes on the

jury and fixed them on Nekhludoff, and her face grew serious and

even severe. One of her serious eyes squinted, and those two

strange eyes for some time gazed at Nekhludoff, who, in spite of

the terrors that seized him, could not take his look off these

squinting eyes, with their bright, clear whites.

He thought of that dreadful night, with its mist, the ice

breaking on the river below, and when the waning moon, with horns

turned upwards, that had risen towards morning, lit up something

black and weird. These two black eyes now looking at him reminded

him of this weird, black something. "She has recognised me," he

thought, and Nekhludoff shrank as if expecting a blow. But she

had not recognised him. She sighed quietly and again looked at

the president. Nekhludoff also sighed. "Oh, if it would only get

on quicker," he thought.

He now felt the same loathing and pity and vexation as when, out

shooting, he was obliged to kill a wounded bird. The wounded bird

struggles in the game bag. One is disgusted and yet feels pity,

and one is in a hurry to kill the bird and forget it.

Such mixed feelings filled Nekhludoff's breast as he sat

listening to the examination of the witnesses.