Varvarahasgrownevenfatterandwhiter，andasbeforesheisactiveingoodworks，andAksinyadoesnotinterferewithher。
Thereissomuchjamnowthattheyhavenottimetoeatitbeforethefreshfruitcomesin；itgoessugary，andVarvaraalmostshedstears，notknowingwhattodowithit。
TheyhavebeguntoforgetaboutAnisim。Aletterhascomefromhimwritteninverseonabigsheetofpaperasthoughitwereapetition，allinthesamesplendidhandwriting。EvidentlyhisfriendSamorodovwassharinghispunishment。Undertheversesinanugly，scarcelylegiblehandwritingtherewasasingleline:“I
amillhereallthetime；Iamwretched，forChrist’ssakehelpme！“
Towardsevening——itwasafineautumnday——oldTsybukinwassittingnearthechurchgates，withthecollarofhisfurcoatturnedupandnothingofhimcouldbeseenbuthisnoseandthepeakofhiscap。AttheotherendofthelongseatwassittingElizarovthecontractor，andbesidehimYakovtheschoolwatchman，atoothlessoldmanofseventy。Crutchandthewatchmanweretalking。