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 two deep coloured spots, as if they were the result of recent scratchings. The latter was more repellant than the former, and she looked at our lovers boldly, and straight in their faces. When they passed by her, she began to sing with a hoarse, masculine voice:

“Oh, for you only, my lover,

“I have been fragrant as a supernatural flower.”

“Baska, do you hear?”—she turned towards her companion, who was lost in musing, and without receiving any answer she laughed loudly and stupidly.

Niemoviceki had known such kind of women. However, Tenaida, who nearly touched them with her neat brown dress, experienced a something hateful and painful, and at the same time wicked, and this experience lived for a while in the dark recesses of her soul.

But after some minutes this impression