Something stuck in his throat, like a heavy ball, and hampered his breath.
"Tell me, Kapitanovna," said Gromov lazily, while his eyes stood out like those of a lustful he-goat, "have you-ah—practised prostitution long?"
Vyera passed her hand over her face as though the question stuck fast to her fiery red cheeks.
"A long time."
She answered firmly. A whisper ran among the people like a snake. Gratschev bowed lower as though he would hide, and twisted his cap ceaselessly.
"About how long?"
Vyera said nothing, but looked earnestly, seriously at Gromov out of her wide-open eyes:
"One year? Two? Five?" persisted the president.
She was still silent; her grey figure stood as though hewn from stone, only the ends of her kerchief quivered on her breast.
"You have the right not to reply, if you wish," said Gromov, stroking his beard.