“I am twenty-six years old to-day. I am old!”
Yura Mikhailovich said:
“He does not know anything. Is it possible that he does not know anything? He does not even suspect? Listen, does he shake everybody’s hand so firmly?”
Mamma said:
“What a question! Of course he does! That is—no, not everybody.”
Yura Mikhailovich said:
“I feel sorry for him.”
Mamma said:
“For him?”
And she laughed strangely. Yurochka understood that they were talking of him, of Yurochka—but what did it all mean, O Lord? And why did she laugh?