She dressed hastily, for some reason wrapped
her shawl tightly around her head, and ran to Fedya Mazin, who,
she knew, was sick and not working. She found him sitting at the
window reading a book, and moving his right hand to and fro with
his left, his thumb spread out. On learning the news he jumped up
nervously, his lips trembled, and his face paled.
"There you are! And I have an abscess on my finger!" he mumbled.
"What are we to do?" asked Vlasova, wiping the perspiration from
her face with a hand that trembled nervously.
"Wait a while! Don't be afraid," answered Fedya, running his sound
hand through his curly hair.
"But you are afraid yourself!"
"I?" He reddened and smiled in embarrassment. "Yes--h-m-- I had
a fit of cowardice, the devil take it! We must let Pavel know.
I'll send my little sister to him. You go home. Never mind!
They're not going to beat us."
On returning home she gathered together all the books, and pressing
them to her bosom walked about the house for a long time, looking
into the oven, under the oven, into the pipe of the samovar, and
even into the water vat. She thought Pavel would at once drop work
and come home; but he did not come.
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