"A friend, that is to say," said Pyotr quietly. "He has character,
indeed he has; he esteems himself highly, as he ought to; he has put
a high price on himself, as he ought to. There's a man, Tatyana!
You say----"
"Is he married?" Tatyana interposed, and compressed the thin lips
of her small mouth.
"He's a widower," answered the mother sadly.
"That's why he's so brave," remarked Tatyana. Her utterance was low
and difficult. "A married man like him wouldn't go--he'd be afraid."
"And I? I'm married and everything, and yet--" exclaimed Pyotr.
"Enough!" she said without looking at him and twisting her lips.
"Well, what are you? You only talk a whole lot, and on rare
occasions you read a book. It doesn't do people much good for you
and Stepan to whisper to each other on the corners."
"Why, sister, many people hear me," quietly retorted the peasant,
offended. "I act as a sort of yeast here. It isn't fair in you
to speak that way."
Stepan looked at his wife silently and again drooped his head.
"And why should a peasant marry?" asked Tatyana. "He needs a
worker, they say. What work?"
"You haven't enough? You want more?" Stepan interjected dully.
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