"Well, it does not matter. Spell it with an h, then! What does matter is, that you should live a long while."
"I should like to write correctly," observed Raissa, and she flushed a little.
When she flushed she was amazingly pretty at once.
"It may be of use.... How father wrote in his day ... wonderfully! He taught me. Well, now he can hardly make out the letters."
"You only live, that's all I want," David repeated, dropping his voice and not taking his eyes off her. Raissa glanced quickly at him and flushed still more.
"You live and as for spelling, spell as you like.... Oh, the devil, the witch is coming!" (David called my aunt the witch.) "What ill-luck has brought her this way? You must go, darling."
Raissa glanced at David once more and ran away.
David talked to me of Raissa and her family very rarely and unwillingly, especially from the time when he began to expect his father's return. He thought of nothing but him and how we should live together afterwards. He had a vivid memory of him and used to describe him to me with particular pleasure.
"He is big and strong; he can lift three hundred-weight with one hand.... When he shouted: 'Where's the lad?' he could be heard all over the house. He's so jolly and kind ... and a brave man! Nobody can intimidate him. We lived so happily together before we were ruined. They say he has gone quite grey, and in old days his hair was as red as mine. He was a strong man."
David would never admit that we might remain in Ryazan.