abruptly, 'Who?'

'Your father,' I repeated,'Mr. Ratsch.'

'Mr. Ratsch is not my father.'

'Not your father! I beg your pardon... I must have misunderstood... But
I remember, Alexander Daviditch...'

Susanna looked at me intently and shyly.

'You misunderstood Mr. Fustov. Mr. Ratsch is my stepfather.'

I was silent for a while.

'And you don't care for music?' I began again.

Susanna glanced at me again. Undoubtedly there was something suggesting
a wild creature in her eyes. She obviously had not expected nor desired
the continuation of our conversation.

'I did not say that,' she brought out slowly.
'Troo-too-too-too-too-oo-oo...' the bassoon growled with startling fury,
executing the final flourishes. I turned round, caught sight of the red
neck of Mr. Ratsch, swollen like a boa-constrictor's, beneath his
projecting ears, and very disgusting I thought him.

'But that... instrument you surely do not care for,' I said in an
undertone.