‘I tell you what, Vera Nikolaevna,’ I observed, ‘you let them bring a table and some chairs in here. Here it is really delicious. I will read you here Goethe’s Faust—that’s the thing I am going to read you.’
‘Yes, there are no flies here,’ she observed simply. ‘When will you come?’
‘The day after to-morrow.’
‘Very well,’ she answered. ‘I will arrange it.’
Natasha, who had come into the summer-house with us, suddenly gave a shriek and jumped back, quite pale.
‘What is it?’ inquired Vera Nikolaevna.
‘O mammy,’ said the little girl, pointing into the corner, ‘look, what a dreadful spider!’
Vera Nikolaevna looked into the corner: a fat mottled spider was crawling slowly along the wall.
‘What is there to fear in that?’ she said. ‘It won’t bite, look.’
And before I had time to stop her, she took up the hideous insect, let it run over her hand, and threw it away.