. . . Ha, ha, ha! They scratched each
other's faces. . . . It is laughable! And why cannot women fight
honestly? Why do they scratch? Eh?"
He sat on the bench, strong and clean and jovial; talking and
laughing all the time. We were silent. Somehow or other he seemed
repulsive to us this time.
"How lucky I am with women, Eh? It is very funny! Just a wink and I
have them!"
His white hands, covered with glossy hair, were lifted and thrown
back to his knees with a loud noise. And he stared at us with such a
pleasantly surprised look, as though he really could not understand
why he was so lucky in his affairs with women. His stout, red face
was radiant with happiness and self-satisfaction, and he kept on
licking his lips with relish.
Our baker scraped the shovel firmly and angrily against the hearth of
the oven and suddenly said, sarcastically:
"You need no great strength to fell little fir-trees, but try to
throw down a pine." . . .
"That is, do you refer to me?" asked the soldier.
"To you. . . ."
"What is it?"
"Nothing. . . . Too late!"
"No, wait! What's the matter? Which pine?"
Our baker did not reply, quickly working with his shovel at the oven.
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