Onisim swayed complacently backwards and forwards.
'Do you know Praskovia Ivanovna?' he asked at last.
'No. What Praskovia Ivanovna?'
'Why, the baker woman!'
'Oh yes, the baker woman. I've seen her; she's very fat.'
'She's a worthy woman. She's own aunt to the other, to your girl.'
'Aunt?'
'Why, didn't you know?'
'No, I didn't know.'
'Well . . .'
Onisim was restrained by respect for his master from giving full expression to his feelings.
'That's whom it is you should make friends with.'
'Well, I've no objection.'
Onisim looked approvingly at Ivan Afanasiitch.
'But with what object precisely am I to make friends with her?' inquired Pyetushkov.
'What for, indeed! ' answered Onisim serenely.
Ivan Afanasiitch got up, paced up and down the room, stood still before the window, and without turning his head, with some hesitation he articulated:
'Onisim!'
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