Book 1 Chapter 53 Victims of Government

Passing back along the broad corridor (it was dinner time, and
the cell doors were open), among the men dressed in their light
yellow cloaks, short, wide trousers, and prison shoes, who were
looking eagerly at him, Nekhludoff felt a strange mixture of
sympathy for them, and horror and perplexity at the conduct of
those who put and kept them here, and, besides, he felt, he knew
not why, ashamed of himself calmly examining it all.

In one of the corridors, some one ran, clattering with his shoes,
in at the door of a cell. Several men came out from here, and
stood in Nekhludoff's way, bowing to him.

"Please, your honour (we don't know what to call you), get our
affair settled somehow."

"I am not an official. I know nothing about it."

"Well, anyhow, you come from outside; tell somebody--one of the
authorities, if need be," said an indignant voice. "Show some
pity on us, as a human being. Here we are suffering the second
month for nothing."

"What do you mean? Why?" said Nekhludoff.

"Why? We ourselves don't know why, but are sitting here the
second month."

"Yes, it's quite true, and it is owing to an accident," said the
inspector. "These people were taken up because they had no
passports, and ought to have been sent back to their native
government; but the prison there is burnt, and the local
authorities have written, asking us not to send them on. So we
have sent all the other passportless people to their different
governments, but are keeping these."