scabby Aliosha. And your life? Can you bear it? Your Feodor sent you home to his father from the factory, and lives there with another woman; he took your boy away from you and sold you into slavery. You work like a horse, and never hear a decent word. Better never marry, better take half-roubles from the son of the priest, better beg for bread, drown yourself in a well . . .”
“It's a sin!” sighed Sophia.
“I don't care.”
Prom the church again came the mournful song of the three voices, the two tenors and the bass. And again the words were indistinguishable.
And Varvara began to whisper that she went out at night with the priest's son, and told what he said to her, and what his friends were like; and that she carried on also with passing officials and traders. And Sophia began to laugh; she felt it was sinful and awful and sweet to listen ; and she envied Varvara, and felt sorry that she had not been a sinner when she was young and handsome.
The church bells struck midnight.
“It's time for bed,” said Sophia, rising. “Diudya may catch us.”
Both went cautiously into the yard.
“I went away and didn't hear what happened to Mashenka afterwards,” said Varvara, spreading her bed under the window.
