When Gerasim was brought from the
country, she was ready to die with fear on seeing his huge figure, tried
all she could to avoid meeting him, even dropped her eyelids when
sometimes she chanced to run past him, hurrying from the house to the
laundry. Gerasim at first paid no special attention to her, then he used
to smile when she came his way, then he began even to stare admiringly
at her, and at last he never took his eyes off her. She took his fancy,
whether by the mild expression of her face or the timidity of her
movements, who can tell? So one day she was stealing across the yard,
with a starched dressing-jacket of her mistress's carefully poised on her
outspread fingers . . . some one suddenly grasped her vigorously by the
elbow; she turned round and fairly screamed; behind her stood Gerasim.
With a foolish smile, making inarticulate caressing grunts, he held out
to her a gingerbread cock with gold tinsel on his tail and wings. She
was about to refuse it, but he thrust it forcibly into her hand, shook
his head, walked away, and turning round, once more grunted something
very affectionately to her.
From that day forward he gave her no peace; wherever she went, he was on
the spot at once, coming to meet her, smiling, grunting, waving his
hands; all at once he would pull a ribbon out of the bosom of his smock
and put it in her hand, or would sweep the dust out of her way.
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