'Here's a devil of a business!' thought the money-lender; 'he's positively burying himself alive.' 'Mihail Andreevitch,' he began again: 'listen. I've been behaving badly to you, indeed; they told me falsely of you.'
Misha went on digging.
'But why be desperate?'
Misha still went on digging, and kept throwing the earth at the money-lender's feet, as though to say, 'Here you are, land-grabber.'
'Really, you 're wrong in this. Won't you be pleased to come in to have some lunch, and rest a bit?'
Misha raised his head. 'So that's it now! And anything to drink?'
The money-lender was delighted. 'Why, of course . . . I should think so.'
'You invite Timofay too?'
'Well, . . . yes, him too.'
Misha pondered. 'Only, mind . . . you made me a beggar, you know. . . . Don't think you can get off with one bottle!'
'Set your mind at rest . . . there shall be all you can want.'
Misha got up and flung down the spade. . . . 'Well, Timosha,' said he to his old nurse; 'let's do honour to our host. . . . Come along.'
'Yes, sir,' answered the old man.
And all three started off to the house together. The money-lender knew the man he had to
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