'Marry, no, curse it, I won't marry!' suddenly shouted one of the two peasants, knocking his bottle on the cask and spitting as far as the shoulder of the beggar man at the fire.
'But you must,' whispered the other, 'or repay the money.'
'God! that's nothing! Jevka!'—this to the girl—'half a pint of whisky! I pay!'
'Money is a big thing, though a woman is a bigger.'
'No, curse it, I won't marry! I'll sell myself, borrow, pay back the money, rather than marry that harridan.'
'Just take a drop to my health, Antek: I have something to say to you.'
'You won't get round me. I have said no, and that is no. Why, if I must, I will run away to Brazil or the end of the world with those folk yonder!'
'Silly! just take a drop to my health, Antek: I have something to say to you.'
They drank healths to one another several times, then began kissing, then fell silent, for a child was crying in a corner, and a movement began among the quiet timid crowd.
A tall dried-up peasant appeared out of the darkness and walked out of the inn.