"Once you've made up your mind to go against
the government, go straight."
The conversation dropped off. The bees and wasps circled busily
around humming in the stifling atmosphere. The birds chirped, and
somewhere at a distance a song was heard straying through the
fields. After a pause Rybin said:
"Well, we've got to get to work. Do you want to rest? There are
boards inside the shanty. Pick up some dry leaves for them, Yakob.
And you, mother, give us the books. Where are they?"
The mother and Sofya began to untie their sacks. Rybin bent down
over them, and said with satisfaction:
"That's it! Well, well--not a few, I see. Have you been in this
business a long time? What's your name?" he turned toward Sofya.
"Anna Ivanovna. Twelve years. Why?"
"Nothing."
"Have you been in prison?"
"I have."
He was silent, taking a pile of books in his hand, and said to her,
showing his teeth:
"Don't take offense at the way I speak. A peasant and a nobleman
are like tar and water. It's hard for them to mix. They jump away
from each other."
"I'm not a lady. I'm a human being," Sofya retorted with a quiet laugh.
"That may be. It's hard for me to believe it; but they say it happens.
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