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Updated: May 13, 2025
This wrinkled, red, toothless face, these small, round, dull eyes, this tangled gray hair, these contortions and motions, this senseless, wandering talk, what does it all mean? What cruel suffering torments this unhappy being? What a dance of death is this! "Choo; my cross Wassilievna! Now they are both on one last just see her! I have only these two doctors."
Soon I shall be laid what do you call that thing? a staff straight and that other thing? a prop. That's all I need, and you, brother jeweler, see: I too am a man." Raissa crossed the room without a word, and while she supported her father she buttoned his jacket. "Let us go, Wassilievna," he said.
He hated my father with all the strength that was left him: he ascribed his sufferings to my father's curses, and called him sometimes "the butcher," and sometimes the "jeweler." "Choo, choo, don't you dare to go to the butcher, Wassilievna:" by this name he called his daughter. Every day he grew more exacting: his needs increased; and how should his needs be satisfied? where get the money?
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