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‘I’m in a hurry. I can’t stay now. You shall tell me next
Sunday.’ Kolya waved his hand at her, as though she had at-
tacked him and not he her.
‘I’ve nothing to tell you next Sunday. You set upon me,
you impudent young monkey. I didn’t say anything,’ bawled
Marya. ‘You want a whipping, that’s what you want, you
saucy jackanapes!’
There was a roar of laughter among the other market
women round her. Suddenly a man in a violent rage darted
out from the arcade of shops close by. He was a young man,
not a native of the town, with dark, curly hair and a long,
pale face, marked with smallpox. He wore a long blue coat
and a peaked cap, and looked like a merchant’s clerk. He
was in a state of stupid excitement and brandished his fist
at Kolya.
‘I know you!’ he cried angrily, ‘I know you!’
Kolya stared at him. He could not recall when he could
have had a row with the man. But he had been in so many
rows in the street that he could hardly remember them all.
‘Do you?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘I know you! I know you!’ the man repeated idiotically.
So much the better for you. Well, it’s time I was going.
Good-bye!’
‘You are at your saucy pranks again?’ cried the man. ‘You
are at your saucy pranks again? I know, you are at it again!’
‘It’s not your business, brother, if I am at my saucy pranks
again,’ said Kolya, standing still and scanning him.
‘Not my business?’
‘No; it’s not your business.’