"Just try it!" said Varvara.
"Well, I will," answered Peredonov.
He rose, and with a sluggish and indifferent expression, spat in her face.
"Pig!" said Varvara, as quietly as if his spitting on her had refreshed her. And she began to wipe her face with a table napkin. Peredonov was silent. Latterly he had been more brusque with her than usual. And even in the beginning he had never been particularly gentle with her. Encouraged by his silence, she repeated more loudly:
"Pig! You are a pig!"
Just then they heard in the next room the bleating of an almost sheep-like voice.
"Don't make such a noise," said Peredonov. "There's someone coming."
"It's only Pavloushka," answered Varvara.
Pavel Vassilyevitch Volodin entered with a loud, gay laugh. He was a young man who, face, manners and all, strangely resembled a young ram; his hair, like a ram's, was curly; his eyes, protruding and dull; everything, about him, in fact, suggested a lively ram—a stupid young man. He was a carpenter by trade. He had first studied in a Manual Training School, but now was an instructor of the trade in the local school.
"How are you, old friend?" he said gaily. "You're at home, drinking coffee, and here am I! Here we are together again!"