"You vile woman!"
Rayisa Petrovna answered as always in a low singing voice:
"I cannot permit you, Matvey Matveyevich."
"You low creature! Look at the money I am paying you!"
The door to the master's room was open, and the voices came in clearly to Yevsey. The fine rain sang a tearful song outside the window. The wind crept over the roof, panting like a large homeless bird fatigued by the bad weather and softly flapping its wet wings against the panes. The boy sat up in bed, put his hands around his knees, and listened shivering.
"Give me back the twenty-five rubles, you thief!"
"I do not deny it. Dorimedont Lukin gave me the money."
"Aha! You see, you hussy!"
"No, permit me—when you asked me to spy on the man—"
"Hush! What are you screaming for?"