you?) could be amused by what ought to be a subject for compassion─I mean deformity.' Then he remembered Paklin's sister, and could have bitten his tongue off; while Fomushka turned red, murmuring, 'Why─why, I didn't . . . she herself———'
And then Pufka fairly flew at Markelov.
'What put that idea into your head,' she squeaked in her lisping voice, 'to insult our masters? They protect a poor wretch like me, take me in, give me meat and drink, and you must grudge it me. You envy another's luck, I suppose. Where do you spring from, you black-faced, worthless wretch, with moustaches like a beetle's?' Here Pufka showed with her thick, short finger what his moustaches were like. Vassilyevna's toothless gums were shaking with laughter, and her mirth was echoed in the next room.
'Of course I can't presume to judge you, Markelov addressed Fomushka; 'to protect the poor and the crippled is a good action. But allow me to observe, to live in luxury, wallowing in ease and plenty, even without injuring others, but not to lift a finger to aid your fellow-creatures, doesn't imply much virtue; I, for one, to tell the truth, attach no value to that sort of goodness!'
Here Pufka gave a deafening howl─she had
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