‘Do you belong to these parts?’
‘Yes.’
Vassilissa passed her hand over her hair and walked a little more slowly. Ivan Afanasiitch smiled, and, his heart inwardly sinking with timidity, he stooped a little on one side and put a trembling arm about the beauty’s waist.
Vassilissa uttered a shriek.
‘Give over, do, for shame, in the street.’
‘Come now, there, there,’ muttered Ivan Afanasiitch.
‘Give over, I tell you, in the street.... Don’t be rude.’
‘A ... a ... ah, what a girl you are!’ said Pyetushkov reproachfully, while he blushed up to his ears.
Vassilissa stood still.
‘Now go along with you, sir—go along, do.’