You're not such a lady of quality!" muttered Foma.
"What's the matter with you ?" "Nothing." She turned her back to him, and said lazily, with a lazy yawn: "I dreamed that I became a harpist again.

It seemed to me that I was singing a solo, and opposite me stood a big, dirty dog, snarling and waiting for me to finish the song.

And I was afraid of the dog.

And I knew that it would devour me, as soon as I stopped singing.

So I kept singing, singing.