“And what are you about, you fool; do you want to die, or what?” sharply, with reproach, said Tamara.
“No, I’m saying it just so, if anything happens ... Take it, now, take the money! Maybe they’ll take me off to the hospital ... And how do you know what’s going to take place there? I left myself some small change, if anything happens ... And supposing that I wanted to do something to myself in downright earnest, Tamarochka—is it possible that you’d interfere with me?”
Tamara looked at her fixedly, deeply, and calmly. Jennie’s eyes were sad, and as though vacant. The living fire had become extinguished in them, and they seemed turbid, just as though faded, with whites like moonstone.
“No,” Tamara said at last, quietly but firmly. “If it was on account of love, I’d interfere; if it was on account of money, I’d talk you out of it: but there are cases where one must not interfere. I wouldn’t help, of course; but I also wouldn’t seize you and interfere with you.”
At this moment the quick-limbed housekeeper Zociya whirled through the corridor with an outcry:
“Ladies, get dressed! The doctor has arrived ... Ladies, get dressed! ... Lively, ladies! ...”
“Well, go on, Tamara, go on,” said Jennka tenderly, getting up. “I’ll run into my room for just a minute—I haven’t changed my dress yet, although, to tell the truth, this also is all one. When they’ll be calling out for me, and I don’t come in time, call out, run in after me.”
And, going out of Tamara’s room, she embraced her by the shoulder, as though by chance, and stroked it tenderly.
Doctor Klimenko—the official city doctor—was preparing in the parlor everything indispensable for an inspection—vaseline, a solution of sublimate, and other things—and was placing them on a separate little table. Here also were arranged for him the white blanks of the girls, replacing their passports, as well as a general alphabetical list. The girls, dressed only in their chemises, stockings, and slippers, were standing and sitting at a distance. Nearer the table was standing the proprietress herself—Anna Markovna—while a little behind her were Emma Edwardovna and Zociya.
The doctor—aged, disheartened, slovenly; a man indifferent to everything—put the pince-nez crookedly upon his nose, looked at the list, and called out: