raise her eyes to me; she seemed to be aware that she would infallibly betray herself, would show what was in her heart, if any one looked her straight in the face. . . . And that was just why she did not lift her eyes, except when she was angry or annoyed, and then she stared straight at the person she was speaking to. . . . But her small pretty face was aglow with indomitable resolution.
'Why, Tarhov was right,' flashed through my head; 'this girl is a new type.'
'You've no need to be afraid of me,' I declared, at last.
'Truly? Even, if . . . You said something about our relations. . . . But even if there were . . .' she broke off.
'Even in that case, you would have no need to be afraid, Musa Pavlovna. I am not your judge. Your secret is buried here.' I pointed to my bosom. 'Believe me, I know how to appreciate. . . ."
'Have you got my letter?' Musa asked suddenly.
'Yes.'
'Where?'
'In my pocket.'
'Give it here . . . quick, quick!'
I got out the scrap of paper. Musa snatched it in her rough little hand, stood still a moment facing me, as though she were going to thank me; but suddenly started, looked round, and
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