Mezhenétsky could not, and did not wish to, hear what was “in a great measure,” nor did he need to know it. The tone of voice of the man was sufficient to show in what utter contempt they held him, Mezhenétsky, the hero of the Revolution, who had sacrificed twelve years of his life to the cause.

And in Mezhenétsky’s heart there arose such dreadful hatred as he had never experienced before⁠—hatred of everybody and everything⁠—of all this senseless world in which only people who are like animals can live⁠—people such as the old man with his “Lamb,” and semi-animal hangmen and gaolers, and insolent, self-assured, stillborn dogmatists.

The warder on duty came in and led the women away to the women’s quarters. Mezhenétsky went to the other end of the corridor so as not to meet him. The warder came back and locked the cell of the new political prisoners, and suggested to Mezhenétsky that he should go back to his own. Mezhenétsky obeyed mechanically, but asked that his door should not be locked.