ying," Zociya began to bustle near the
door. "Dispose yourself as you please, to your heart's content. A
pleasant appetite to you."

Manka locked the door on a hook after her and sat down on the German's
knee, embracing him with her bare arm.

"Are you here long?" he asked, sipping his beer. He felt dimly that
that imitation of love which must immediately take place demanded some
sort of psychic propinquity, a more intimate acquaintance, and on that
account, despite his impatience, began the usual conversation, which is
carried on by almost all men--when alone with prostitutes, and which
compels the latter to lie almost mechanically, to lie without
mortification, enthusiasm or malice, according to a single, very
ancient stencil.

"Not long, only the third month."

"And how old are you?"

"Sixteen," fibbed Little Manka, taking five years off her age.

"O, such a young one!" the German wondered, and began, bending down and
grunting, to take off his boots. "Then how did you get here?"

"Well, a certain officer deprived me of my innocence there...near his
birthplace. And it's terrible how strict my mamma is. If she was to
find out, she'd strangle me with her own hands. Well, so then I ran
away from home and got in here..."

"And did you love that same officer, the one who was the first one,
now?"

"If I hadn't loved him, I wouldn't have gone to him. He promised to
marry me, the scoundrel, but then managed to get what he was after, and
abandoned me."

"Well, and were you ashamed the first time?"

"Of course, you'd be ashamed...How do you like it, daddy, with light or
without light? I'll turn, down the lantern a little. All right?"

"Well, and aren't you bored here? What do they call you?"

"Manya. To be sure I'm bored. What sort of a life is ours!"

The German kissed her hard on her lips and again asked:

"And do you love the men? Are there men who please you? Who afford you
pleasure?"

"How shouldn't there be?" Manka started laughing. "I love the ones like
you especially, such nice little fatties."

"You love them? Eh? Why do you love them?"

"Oh, I love them just so. You're nice, too."

The German meditated for a few seconds, pensively sipping away at his
beer. Then he said that which every man tells a prostitute in these
moments preceding the casual possession of her body:

"Do you know, Marichen, you also please me very much. I would willingly
take you and set you up."

"You're married," the g