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 out her flat bosom, paying dentists for putting a set of teeth into her jaws, and getting her a pair of stilts to make her look human size. Then you can hire a barrel-organ and take her around people's backyards. A fine hurdy-gurdyman you'd make, upon my word. I'll throw you a two-kopeck-piece from the window, I promise.

Hold your tongue, I tell you!

And what'll you do if I don't?

I'll beat you black and blue.

Ho, ho! There's no beating folks these days. Nowadays a beating is answered with a knife.

And who'll do that? (Striding into Hindel's compartment.) Who'll do the knifing, eh? (He struggles with her, tearing from her grasp a red waist. He returns to the cellar.) Now we'll see. (He rips the waist open eagerly. A photograph falls to the floor.) Aha! Moyshe the locksmith! So that's your champion, is it? And since when have you become so thick with him? (Goes back to her room.)