humbly beg you not to be angry with me. I am a sensitive man, and any kindness I am most sensible of and grateful for. Do not be angry with me, Vassilissa Timofyevna, I beg you most humbly.—I remain respectfully your obedient servant, Ivan Pyetushkov.'
Onisim carried this letter to its address.
III
A fortnight passed. Onisim went every morning as usual to the baker's shop. One day Vassilissa ran out to meet him.
'Good morning, Onisim Sergeitch.'
Onisim put on a gloomy expression, and responded crossly, ''Morning.'
'How is it you never come to see us, Onisim Sergeitch?'
Onisim glanced morosely at her.
'What should I come for? you wouldn't give me a cup of tea, no fear.'
'Yes, I would, Onisim Sergeitch, I would. You come and see. Rum in it, too.'
Onisim slowly relaxed into a smile.
'Well, I don't mind if I do, then.'
'When, then—when?'
'When . . . well, you are . . .'
'To-day—this evening, if you like. Drop in.'
'All right, I'll come along,' replied Onisim,
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