But she, the fool, had in
truth fallen in love--with him, and since she was very jealous
about him and all these tousled girls in leather belts, he had
done a low-down thing: had sent up his comrade on purpose, had
framed it up with him, and the other had begun to hug Liubka, and
Vasska came in, saw it, and kicked up a great row, and chased
Liubka out into the street.
Of course, in her version there were two almost equal parts of
truth and untruth; but so, at least, all this had appeared to her.
She also told with great details how, having found herself without
masculine support or without anybody's powerful extraneous
influence, she had hired a room In a rather bad little hotel, on a
retired street; how even from the first day the boots, a tough
bird, a hard-boiled egg, had attempted to trade in her, without
even having and Vasska came in, saw it, and kicked up a great row,
the hotel to a private room, but even there had been overtaken by
an experienced old woman go-between, with whose like the houses
inhabited by poverty swarm.
Therefore, even with quiet living, there was in the face, in the
conversation, and in the entire manner of Liubka something
peculiar, specific to the casual eye; perhaps even entirely
imperceptible, but for the business scent as plain and as
irrefutable as the day.
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