“I meant it as a brother ... I meant it without that ...” mumbled Lichonin in confusion.
“I know that kind of brothers. Until the first night ... Leave off and don’t talk nonsense to me! It makes me tired to listen to it!”
“Wait, Lichonin!” began the reporter seriously. “Why, you will pile a load beyond your strength upon yourself as well. I’ve known idealists, among the populists, who married peasant girls out of principle. This is just the way they thought—nature, black-loam, untapped forces. ... But this black-loam after a year turned into the fattest of women, who lies the whole day in bed and chews cookies, or studs her fingers with penny rings, spreads them out and admires them. Or else sits in the kitchen, drinks sweet liquor with the coachman and carries on a natural romance with him. Look out, here it will be worse!”
All three became silent. Lichonin was pale and was wiping his moist forehead with a handkerchief.
“No, the devil take it!” he cried out suddenly with obstinacy. “I don’t believe you! I don’t want to believe! Liuba” he called loudly the girl who had fallen asleep. “Liubochka!”
The girl awoke, passed her palm over her lips, first to one side, then the other, yawned, and smiled, in a funny, child-like manner.
“I wasn’t sleeping, I heard everything,” she said. “I only dozed off for a teeny-weeny bit.”
“Liuba, do you want to go away from here with me?” asked Lichonin and took her by the hand. “But entirely, forever, to go away so’s never to return either to a brothel or the street?”
Liuba questioningly, with perplexity, looked at Jennie, as though seeking from her an explanation of this jest.
“That’s enough for you,” she said slyly. “You’re still studying yourself. Where do you come in, then, to take a girl and set her up?”