"And it is very large." "Moth-eaten," said the Jewess.

"And there is a hole in the side.

Five marks." Schmidt held the fur up to the light and blew into it with a professional air, as furriers do.
"Look at that!" he cried, persuasively.

"Why, it is worth twenty!" The Hebrew lady, instead of answering extended a fat thumb and a plump, pointed forefinger, and pinching a score of hairs between the two, pulled them out without effort, and then held them close to the Cossack's eyes.
"Five marks," she repeated, getting the money out and preparing to fill in a couple of pawn-tickets.
"Make it ten, with the samovar!" entreated Vjera.

The Jewess smiled.
"Do you think the samovar is of gold ?" she inquired.