"No dinner for him! Such bla . . . such rascals don't deserve
dinner!"

Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair
and goes into the corner.

"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else
cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin. . . .
I won't let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You
must do your duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father
works and you must work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness!
You must be a man! A m-man!"

"For God's sake, leave off," says his wife in French. "Don't nag
at us before outsiders, at least. . . . The old woman is all ears;
and now, thanks to her, all the town will hear of it."

"I am not afraid of outsiders," answers Zhilin in Russian. "Anfissa
Ivanovna sees that I am speaking the truth. Why, do you think I
ought to be pleased with the boy? Do you know what he costs me? Do
you know, you nasty boy, what you cost me? Or do you imagine that
I coin money, that I get it for nothing? Don't howl! Hold your
tongue! Do you hear what I say? Do you want me to whip you, you
young ruffian?"

Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob.

"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table
and flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner