Ivanovna bawled to him from the little window. 'Come in.'
Pyetushkov started, and went in. Praskovia Ivanovna met him in the doorway.
'Why didn't you come to see us yesterday, my good sir? Was it, maybe, some ailment prevented you?'
'Yes, I had something of a headache yesterday. . .'
'Ah, you should have put cucumber on your temples, my good sir. It would have taken it away in a twinkling. Is your head aching now?'
'No, it's not.'
'Ah well, and thank Thee, O Lord, for it.'
Ivan Afanasiitch went off into the back room. Vassilissa saw him.
'Ah! good day, Ivan Afanasiitch.'
'Good day, Vassilissa Ivanovna.'
'Where have you put the tap, Ivan Afanasiitch?'
'Tap? what tap?'
'The wine-tap . . . our tap. You must have taken it home with you. You are such a one . . . Lord, forgive us. . .'
Pyetushkov put on a dignified and chilly air.
'I will direct my man to look. Seeing that I was not here yesterday,' he pronounced significantly. . .
'Ah, why, to be sure, you weren't here yesterday.' Vassilissa squatted down on
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