by Anton Chekhov    "Well, Marie Godefroi, come, get on! Hopla!"
"You must hold him all the time on the curb, Sergey Vassilitch.
Don't let him shy. He's pretending."   "I promise on my honour,
I swear to God, I won't be afraid and I'll speak to her today."
"Polyansky has a very fine horse, I don't deny that," Masha said
to Nikitin, with a glance towards the officer who was riding
beside Varya. "But it has blemishes. That white patch on its
left leg ought not to be there, and, look, it tosses its head.
You can't train it not to now; it will toss its head till the
end of its days."    "No, I am here permanently," answered
Nikitin. "I am a teacher at the school."  "You don't say so?"
said the doctor, with surprise. "So young and already a
teacher?"  "Young, indeed! My goodness, I'm twenty-six!   "What
a beast!" thought Nikitin. "He, too, takes me for a whipper-
snapper!"  He disliked it extremely when people referred to his
youth, especially in the presence of women or the schoolboys.
Ever since he had co