a little while, looked round once more as though expecting help from us, and went on. I have never seen anyone, drunk or sober, move as she did. Agafya seemed to be shrivelled up by her husband's eyes. At one time she moved in zigzags, then she moved her feet up and down without going forward, bending her knees and stretching out her hands, then she staggered back. When she had gone another hundred paces she looked round once more and sat down.
"You ought at least to hide behind a bush . . ." I said to Savka. "If the husband sees you . . ."
"He knows, anyway, who it is Agafya has come from. . . . The women don't go to the kitchen garden at night for cabbages — we all know that."
I glanced at Savka's face. It was pale and puckered up with a look of fastidious pity such as one sees in the faces of people watching tortured animals.
"What's fun for the cat is tears for the mouse . . ." he muttered.
Agafya suddenly jumped up, shook her head, and with a bold step went towards her husband. She had evidently plucked up her courage and made up her mind.
