in peace! Your bread sticks in my throat."

And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the
dining-room.

"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's
been spoilt. . . . That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes
to hear the truth nowadays. . . . It's all my fault, it seems."

Several minutes of silence follow. Zhilin looks round at the plates,
and noticing that no one has yet touched their soup, heaves a deep
sigh, and stares at the flushed and uneasy face of the governess.

"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I
suppose? I see. . . . You don't like to be told the truth. You must
forgive me, it's my nature; I can't be a hypocrite. . . . I always
blurt out the plain truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence
is unwelcome. No one can eat or talk while I am here. . . . Well,
you should have told me, and I would have gone away. . . . I will
go."

Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the
weeping Fedya he stops.

"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya,
throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing
up again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father,
from a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and
your mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all
responsibility for your future. . . ."