"
"There now! See where you got to!" laughed the Little Russian.
"Andriusha!" the mother called from the kitchen. "Come get the
samovar. It's ready!"
Andrey walked out of the room, and Vyesovshchikov, left alone,
looked about, stretched out his foot sheathed in a coarse, heavy
boot, looked at it, bent down, and felt the stout calf of his legs.
Then he raised one hand to his face, carefully examined the palm,
and turned it around. His short-fingered hand was thick, and
covered with yellowish hair. He waved it in the air, and arose.
When Andrey brought in the samovar, Vyesovshchikov was standing
before the mirror, and greeted him with these words:
"It's a long time since I've seen my face." Then he laughed and
added: "It's an ugly face I have!"
"What's that to you?" asked Andrey, turning a curious look upon him.
"Sashenka says the face is the mirror of the heart!" Nikolay
replied, bringing out the words slowly.
"It's not true, though!" the little Russian ejaculated. "She has
a nose like a mushroom, cheek bones like a pair of scissors; yet
her heart is like a bright little star."
They sat down to drink tea.
Vyesovshchikov took a big potato, heavily salted a slice of bread,
and began to chew slowly and deliberately, like an ox.
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