by conscience. More uneasy at this thought, he
tossed about on the hay and irritated, pushed Sasha with his
elbow.
"Be careful!" said she, although nearly asleep.
"It's all right. 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. And suddenly it
seemed my voice failed me. Horrible! And the dog is gnashing his
teeth. 0h Lord, have mercy on me! What does it mean?"
"Stop your idle talk!" Foma interrupted her sternly. "You better
tell me what you know about me."
"I know, for instance, that you are awake now," she answered,
without turning to him.
"Awake? That's true. I've awakened," said Foma, thoughtfully and,
throwing his arm behind his head, went on: "That's why I am
asking you.
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