"But where is he?"
"Who can know!"
"Is he a peasant?"
"All one can say for sure is that he was a man. His caste is unknown. However, he could hardly have been a peasant. By your face and skin, not to mention your character, he seems to have been from the gentry."
Those casual words of his sank deep into my mind and they didn't do me much good. When they called me a foundling at school, I balked and shouted to my comrades:
"You are peasant children, but my father is a gentleman!"
I became very firm about this. One must protect oneself somehow against insults, and I had no other protection in my mind. They began to dislike me, to call me bad names, and I fought back. I was a strong youngster and could fight easily. Complaints grew about me, and people said to the sexton:
"Quiet that bastard of yours!"
And others without bothering to complain, pulled my ears to their hearts' content.
Then Larion said to me: