It's fine soup." When the soup had been brought, and he had begun upon it, Nastasya sat down beside him on the sofa and began chatting.

She was a country peasant-woman and a very talkative one.
"Praskovya Pavlovna means to complain to the police about you," she said.
He scowled.
"To the police?
What does she want ?" "You don't pay her money and you won't turn out of the room.

That's what she wants, to be sure." "The devil, that's the last straw," he muttered, grinding his teeth, "no, that would not suit me...

just now.

She is a fool," he added aloud.
"I'll go and talk to her to-day." "Fool she is and no mistake, just as I am.