Punin delivered these lines in a rhythmic, sing-song voice, with full rounded vowels, as verses should be read.
'So that 's how it is he 's a republican!' I exclaimed.
'No, that 's not why,' Punin answered simply. 'He forgave his father long ago; but he cannot endure injustice of any sort; it 's the sorrows of others that trouble him!'
I wanted to turn the conversation on what I had learned from Musa the day before, that is to say, on Baburin's matrimonial project,—but I did not know how to proceed. Punin himself got me out of the difficulty.
'Did you notice nothing?' he asked me suddenly, slily screwing up his eyes, 'while you were with us? nothing special?'
'Why, was there anything to notice?' I asked in my turn.
Punin looked over his shoulder, as though anxious to satisfy himself that no one was listening. 'Our little beauty, Musotchka, is shortly to be a married lady!'
'How so?'
'Madame Baburin,' Punin announced with an effort, and slapping his knees several times with his open hands, he nodded his head, like a china mandarin.
'Impossible!' I cried, with assumed astonishment.
Punin's head slowly came to rest, and his
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