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tor’s feat in examining the prisoner at Mokroe, and jeered
at Ippolit Kirillovitch. ‘The man could not resist boasting of
his cleverness,’ they said.
The court was adjourned, but only for a short interval, a
quarter of an hour or twenty minutes at most. There was a
hum of conversation and exclamations in the audience. I
remember some of them.
‘A weighty speech,’ a gentleman in one group observed
gravely.
‘He brought in too much psychology,’ said another voice.
‘But it was all true, the absolute truth!’
‘Yes, he is first rate at it.’
‘He summed it all up.’
‘Yes, he summed us up, too,’ chimed in another voice,
‘Do you remember, at the beginning of his speech, making
out we were all like Fyodor Pavlovitch?’
‘And at the end, too. But that was all rot.’
‘And obscure too.’
‘He was a little too much carried away.’
‘It’s unjust, it’s unjust.’
‘No, it was smartly done, anyway. He’s had long to wait,
but he’s had his say, ha ha!’
‘What will the counsel for the defence say?’
In another group I heard:
‘He had no business to make a thrust at the Petersburg
man like that; ‘appealing to your sensibilities’ — do you re-
member?’
‘Yes, that was awkward of him.’
‘He was in too great a hurry.’

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