'So that's how it is,' observed Onisim, and he coolly took a pinch of snuff. 'So that's how it is. You're always like that. Vassilissa sends you her duty.'
'Really?'
'Really? So that's all about it. Really! . . . She told me to say, Why is it, says she, one never sees him? Why is it, says she, he never comes?'
'Well, and what did you say?'
'What did I say? I told her: You're a silly girl—I told her—as if folks like that are coming to see you! No, you come yourself, I told her.'
'Well, and what did she say?'
'What did she say? . . . She said nothing.'
'That is, how do you mean, nothing?'
'Why, nothing, to be sure.'
Pyetushkov said nothing for a little while.
'Well, and is she coming?'
Onisim shook his head.
'She coming! You're in too great a hurry, sir. She coming, indeed! No, you go too fast' . . .
'But you said yourself that . . .'
'Oh, well, it's easy to talk.'
Pyetushkov was silent again.
'Well, but how's it to be, then, my lad?'
'How? . . . You ought to know best; you're a gentleman.'
'Oh, nonsense! come now!'
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