"D'you know, I'm a bad lot," said Lunev, and his voice shook, while he wondered in his heart if he should tell her or no.
Masha turned towards him with a smile:
"Pity there's no one to give you a beating, that's what you want, you bad fellow!"
"Oh! have a little patience."
"No—no—you don't deserve any," said Masha, then approaching him quickly, she said in a tone of entreaty: "Ilya dear, ask your uncle to take me with him, will you? Ask him! I'll go on my knees and thank you."
"Where do you want to go?" asked Lunev, tired and too busy with his own thoughts to attend.
"To the holy places. Dear Ilya, ask him."
With hands clasped and eyes streaming, she stood in front of him, as though before a shrine.
"It would be so lovely, in spring, through the fields and woods. I'd go on and on, ever so far. I think of it every day—I dream that I'm going there, how good it would be; speak to your uncle, tell him to take me! He listens to you—I won't be a trouble to him. I'll beg for myself. I'm so little, they'll give to me. Will you, Ilusha? I'll kiss your hand."
Suddenly she seized his hand and bent over it. He sprang up, pushing her back.