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"I'm going with forty, going with an ace of spades a ten-spot, Mannechka, if you please. I'm through. Fifty-seven, eleven, sixty-eight. How much have you?" "Thirty," says Manka in an offended tone, pouting her lips; "oh, it's all very well for you you remember all the plays. Deal ... Well, what's after that, Tamarochka?" she turns to her friend. "You talk on I'm listening."
He curses one's mother, the son of a bitch, always aching for a fight. Ugh! No!" she suddenly exclaimed in a merry provoking voice, "The one I love truly and surely, for ever and ever, is my Mannechka, Manka the white, little Manka, my Manka-Scandalistochka."
After a minute Little White Manka came in her brown, smooth, deliberately modest dress of a high school girl. "What did you call me for, Jennie? Or have you quarreled?" "No, we haven't quarreled, Mannechka, but my head aches very much," answered Jennka calmly, "and for that reason my little friend finds me very cold. Be a friend, Mannechka, stay with him, take my place!"
"Mannechka, sweetie, dearie," says Pasha lightly touching Manya's hand with emotion, "tell my fortune, my precious little child." "We-ell," Manya pouts her lips just like a child, "let's play a little more." "Mannechka, my little beauty, you little good-looker, my precious, my own, my dear..." Manya gives in and lays out the pack on her knees.
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