"Toad! if you dare to fetch and carry letters again, I'll give you a
lesson that you'll never forget."
Sanine was seated at the table, writing. His mother was so little used
to seeing him write, that, in spite of her grief, she was interested.
"What's that you're writing?"
"A letter," replied Sanine, looking up, gaily.
"To whom?"
"Oh! to a journalist I know. I think of joining the staff of his
paper."
"So you write for the papers?"
Sanine smiled. "I do everything."
"But why do you want to go there?"
"Because I'm tired of living here with you, mother," said Sanine
frankly.
Maria Ivanovna felt somewhat hurt.
"Thank you," she said.
Sanine looked attentively at her, and felt inclined to tell her not to
be so silly as to imagine that a man, especially one who had no
employment, could care to remain always in the same place. But it irked
him to have to say such a thing; and he was silent.
Maria Ivanovna took out her pocket-handkerchief and crumpled it
nervously in her fingers. If it had not been for Sarudine's letter and
her consequent distress and anxiety, she would have bitterly resented
her son's rudeness.
Pages:
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333