And he leaped from the cart....
"Semyónitch, Semyónitch, don't beat her, don't fight,"—stammered Efrém, whose intoxication began to dissipate at such an unexpected event.
"Yes, dear little father, kill me, kill me, dear little father, kill me, the vile creature: beat away, don't heed him!"—shrieked Avdótya, as she writhed convulsively at Akím's feet.
He stood awhile and stared at her, then retreated a few paces, and sat down on the grass, by the roadside.
A brief silence ensued. Avdótya turned her head in his direction.
"Semyónitch, hey, Semyónitch!"—began Efrém, half-rising in the cart;—"have done with that—that will do ... for thou canst not repair the calamity. Phew, what an affair!"—he continued, as though to himself;—"what a damned bad woman... Do thou go to him,"—he added, bending over the cart-rail toward Avdótya;—"canst not see that he has gone crazy?"
Avdótya rose, approached Akím and again fell at his feet.
"Dear little father,"—she began in a faint voice.
Akím rose and went back to the cart. She clutched the skirt of his kaftan.