barrow: it was the new labourer at work in the garden. . . . Vera
sat at the open window with a book, dozed, and watched the soldier
making the paths for her, and that interested her. The paths were
as even and level as a leather strap, and it was pleasant to imagine
what they would be like when they were strewn with yellow sand.

She could see her aunt come out of the house soon after five o'clock,
in a pink wrapper and curl-papers. She stood on the steps for three
minutes without speaking, and then said to the soldier:

"Take your passport and go in peace. I can't have any one illegitimate
in my house."

An oppressive, angry feeling sank like a stone on Vera's heart. She
was indignant with her aunt, she hated her; she was so sick of her
aunt that her heart was full of misery and loathing. But what was
she to do? To stop her mouth? To be rude to her? But what would be
the use? Suppose she struggled with her, got rid of her, made her
harmless, prevented her grandfather from flourishing his stick--
what would be the use of it? It would be like killing one mouse or
one snake in the boundless steppe. The vast expanse, the long
winters, the monotony and dreariness of life, instil a sense of
helplessness; the position seems hopeless, and one wants to do
nothing--everything is useless.

Alyona came in, and bowing low to Vera, began carrying out the
arm-chairs to beat the dust out of them.

"You have chosen a time to clean up," said Vera with annoyance. "Go
away."

Alyona was overwhelmed, and in her terror could not understand what
was wanted of her. She began hurriedly tidying up the dressing-table.

"Go out of the room, I tell you," Vera shouted, turning cold; she
had never had such an oppressive feeling before. "Go away!"

Alyona uttered a sort of moan, like a bird, and dropped Vera's gold
watch on the carpet.

"Go away!" Vera shrieked in a voice not her own, leaping up and
trembling all over. "Send her away; she worries me to death!" she
went on, walking rapidly after Alyona down the passage, stamping
her feet. "Go away! Birch her! Beat her!" Then suddenly she came
to herself, and just as she was, unwashed, uncombed, in her
dressing-gown and slippers, she rushed out of the house. She ran
to the familiar ravine and hid herself there among the sloe-trees,
so that she might see no one and be seen by no one. Lying there
motionless on the grass, she did not weep, she was not horror-stricken,
but gazing at the sky o