' He wouldn't even let me finish
my sentence. --Are you a lady?" Rybin asked Sofya, suddenly
breaking off his story.
"Why do you think I'm a lady?" she asked quickly, startled by the
unexpectedness of his question.
"Why?" laughed Rybin. "That's the star under which you were born.
That's why. You think a chintz kerchief can conceal the blot of the
nobleman from the eyes of the people? We'll recognize a priest even
if he's wrapped in sackcloth. Here, for instance, you put your
elbows on a wet table, and you started and frowned. Besides, your
back is too straight for a working woman."
Fearing he would insult Sofya with his heavy voice and his raillery,
the mother said quickly and sternly:
"She's my friend, Mikhail Ivanovich. She's a good woman. Working
in this movement has turned her hair gray. You're not very----"
Rybin fetched a deep breath.
"Why, was what I said insulting?"
Sofya looked at him dryly and queried:
"You wanted to say something to me?"
"I? Not long ago a new man came here, a cousin of Yakob. He's
sick with consumption; but he's learned a thing or two. Shall
we call him?"
"Call him! Why not?" answered Sofya.
Rybin looked at her, screwing up his eyes.
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