"Won't you catch cold, dear?"
His voice sounded tender and tremulous. Liudmilla laughed.
"What a notion! I'm used to it. I'm not so delicate as that."
Liudmilla once came to Kokovkina's just before dusk and called Sasha:
"Come and help me put up a new shelf."
Sasha loved to knock nails in, and somehow he had promised to help Liudmilla in arranging her room. And now he eagerly consented, glad that there was an innocent pretext to go to Liudmilla's house. And now the innocent, pungent odour of essence of muguet blew from Liudmilla's greenish dress and gently soothed him.
For the work Liudmilla redressed herself behind a screen, and came out to Sasha in a short, spruce skirt, and short sleeves, perfumed with the pleasant, languid, pungent Japanese funkia.
"Oh, but how spruced up you are!" said Sasha.
"Yes, I am," said Liudmilla laughing. "Look, my feet are bare," she said, drawling out her words in a half-ashamed, half-provoking way.