‘No, I can’t.’

‘What about reading?’

‘I can’t read either.’

‘Then who read you my letter?’

‘The deacon.’

Pyetushkov paused.

‘But would you like to learn to read and write?’

‘Why, what use would reading and writing be to us, Ivan Afanasiitch?’

‘What use? You could read books.’

‘But what good is there in books?’