Pensively, she looked at him with that
strange glitter in her eyes, which always confused Foma; she examined
him as something rare and extremely curious, and said:
"How much strength and power and freshness of soul you possess! Do
you know? You merchants are an altogether new race, an entire race
with original traditions, with an enormous energy of body and soul.
Take you, for instance--you are a precious stone, and you should be
polished. Oh!"
Whenever she told him: "You," or "according to your merchant
fashion," it seemed to Foma that she was pushing him away from
her with these words. This at once saddened and offended him. He
was silent, looking at her small maidenly figure, which was always
somehow particularly well dressed, always sweet-scented like a flower.
Sometimes he was seized with a wild, coarse desire to embrace and
kiss her. But her beauty and the fragility of her thin, supple body
awakened in him a fear of breaking and disfiguring her, and her calm,
caressing voice and the clear, but somewhat cautious look of her eyes
chilled his passion; it seemed to him as though she were looking
straight into his soul, divining all his thoughts.
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