He was showing his teeth, and his hands were swinging about. He climbed up, tumbled on to the old man’s chest, and began to strangle him.

“The money’s mine!” muttered Polikéy.

“Let go! Never again!” Semyón tried to say, but could not.

Polikéy was pressing down on him with the weight of a mountain. Doútlof knew that if he said a prayer he would leave him alone, and knew which prayer he ought to say, but could not get it out.

His grandson, sleeping beside him, uttered a shrill scream, and began to cry. His grandfather had pressed him against the wall. The child’s cry loosened the old man’s lips.

“May the Lord arise!⁠ ⁠…” he said.