‘Why am I walking as it were in a dream?’ he thought to himself. ‘Am I out of my mind, or what? Why, it passes all belief, at last. Come, damn it, she’s tired of me, come, and I’ve grown tired of her, come, and ... What is there out of the way in that?
Pyetushkov frowned.
‘I must put an end to it, once for all,’ he said almost aloud. ‘I’ll go and speak out decisively for the last time, so that it may never come up again.’
Pyetushkov made his way with rapid step to the baker’s shop. The nephew of the hired man, Luka, a little boy, friend and confidant of the goat that lived in the yard, darted swiftly to the little gate, directly he caught sight of Ivan Afanasiitch in the distance.
Praskovia Ivanovna came out to meet Pyetushkov.
‘Is your niece at home?’ asked Pyetushkov.
‘No, sir.’
Pyetushkov was inwardly relieved at Vassilissa’s absence.
‘I came to have a few words with you, Praskovia Ivanovna.’
‘What about, my good sir?’