“Papa, why do you always speak to me in such a way as though I were a small child, or very stupid?”
“Because you are grown up and yet not very clever. Yes! That’s the whole story! Go, sit down and eat!”
She walked away and silently seated herself opposite her father, compressing her lips for affront. Contrary to his habits Mayakin ate slowly, stirring his spoon in his plate of cabbage-soup for a long time, and examining the soup closely.
“If your obstructed mind could but comprehend your father’s thoughts!” said he, suddenly, as he sighed with a sort of whistling sound.
Lubov threw her spoon aside and almost with tears in her voice, said:
“Why do you insult me, papa? You see that I am alone, always alone! You understand how difficult my life is, and you never say a single kind word to me. You never say anything to me! And you are also lonely; life is difficult for you too, I can see it. You find it very hard to live, but you alone are to blame for it! You alone!
“Now Balaam’s she-ass has also started to talk!” said the old man, laughing. “Well! what will be next?”
“You are very proud of your wisdom, papa.”
“And what else?”
“That isn’t good; and it pains me greatly. Why do you repulse me? You know that, save you, I have no one.”