This time Polenka was undressing her little brother, who had been unwell all day and was going to bed.

The boy was waiting for her to take off his shirt, which had to be washed at night.
He was sitting straight and motionless on a chair, with a silent, serious face, with his legs stretched out straight before him--heels together and toes turned out.
He was listening to what his mother was saying to his sister, sitting perfectly still with pouting lips and wide-open eyes, just as all good little boys have to sit when they are undressed to go to bed.

A little girl, still younger, dressed literally in rags, stood at the screen, waiting for her turn.

The door on to the stairs was open to relieve them a little from the clouds of tobacco smoke which floated in from the other rooms and brought on long terrible fits of coughing in the poor, consumptive woman.

Katerina Ivanovna seemed to have grown even thinner during that week and the hectic flush on her face was brighter than ever.
"You wouldn't believe, you can't imagine, Polenka," she said, walking about the room, "what a happy luxurious life we had in my papa's house and how this drunkard has brought me, and will bring you all, to ruin! Papa was a civil colonel and only a step from being a governor; so that everyone who came to see him said, 'We look upon you, Ivan Mihailovitch, as our governor!' When I...