"That black thing in the grave," I asked her, "was it mother's coffin?"
"Yes," she said angrily. "Ignorant dog! It is not a year yet, and our Varia is already decayed! It is the sand that has done it; it lets the water through. If that had to happen, it would have been better to—" "Shall we all decay?"
"All. Only the saints escape it."
"You—you will not decay!"
She halted, set my cap straight, and said to me seriously:
"Don't think about it; it is better not. Do you hear?"
But I did think of it. How offensive and revolting death was! How odious! I felt very badly about it.
When we reached home grandfather had already prepared the samovar and laid the table.
"Come and have some tea. I expect you are hot," he said. "I have put in my own tea as well. This is for us all."
He went to grandmother and patted her on the shoulder.