They had two or three hundred paces to go.

The drunken man was more and more overcome by dismay and confusion as they drew nearer the house.
"It's not Katerina Ivanovna I am afraid of now," he muttered in agitation--"and that she will begin pulling my hair.

What does my hair matter! Bother my hair! That's what I say! Indeed it will be better if she does begin pulling it, that's not what I am afraid of...

it's her eyes I am afraid of...

yes, her eyes...