Book 3 Chapter 9 The Politial Prisoners

Accompanied by the orderly, Nekhludoff went out into the
courtyard, which was dimly lit up by the red light of the lamps.

"Where to?" asked the convoy sergeant, addressing the orderly.

"Into the separate cell, No. 5."

"You can't pass here; the boss has gone to the village and taken
the keys."

"Well, then, pass this way."

The soldier led Nekhludoff along a board to another entrance.
While still in the yard Nekhludoff could hear the din of voices
and general commotion going on inside as in a beehive when the
bees are preparing to swarm; but when he came nearer and the door
opened the din grew louder, and changed into distinct sounds of
shouting, abuse and laughter. He heard the clatter of chairs and
smelt the well-known foul air. This din of voices and the clatter
of the chairs, together with the close smell, always flowed into
one tormenting sensation, and produced in Nekhludoff a feeling of
moral nausea which grew into physical sickness, the two feelings
mingling with and heightening each other.

The first thing Nekhludoff saw, on entering, was a large,
stinking tub. A corridor into which several doors opened led from
the entrance. The first was the family room, then the bachelors'
room, and at the very end two small rooms were set apart for the
political prisoners.

The buildings, which were arranged to hold one hundred and fifty
prisoners, now that there were four hundred and fifty inside,
were so crowded that the prisoners could not all get into the
rooms, but filled the passage, too. Some were sitting or lying on
the floor, some were going out with empty teapots, or bringing
them back filled with boiling water. Among the latter was Taras.
He overtook Nekhludoff and greeted him affectionately. The kind
face of Taras was disfigured by dark bruises on his nose and
under his eye.