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shot, too, in a screw of paper. He even uncorked the flask
and shook a little powder into the palm of his hand.
‘One has to be careful there’s no fire about, or it would
blow up and kill us all,’ Krassotkin warned them sensation-
ally.
The children gazed at the powder with an awe-stricken
alarm that only intensified their enjoyment. But Kostya
liked the shot better.
‘And does the shot burn?’ he inquired.
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘Give me a little shot,’ he asked in an imploring voice.
‘I’ll give you a little shot; here, take it, but don’t show it to
your mother till I come back, or she’ll be sure to think it’s
gunpowder, and will die of fright and give you a thrashing.’
‘Mother never does whip us,’ Nastya observed at once.
‘I know, I only said it to finish the sentence. And don’t
you ever deceive your mother except just this once, until
I come back. And so, kiddies, can I go out? You won’t be
frightened and cry when I’m gone?’
‘We sha-all cry,’ drawled Kostya, on the verge of tears al-
ready.
‘We shall cry, we shall be sure to cry,’ Nastya chimed in
with timid haste.
‘Oh, children, children, how fraught with peril are your
years! There’s no help for it, chickens; I shall have to stay
with you I don’t know how long. And time is passing, time
is passing, oogh!’
‘Tell Perezvon to pretend to be dead!’ Kostya begged.
‘There’s no help for it, we must have recourse to Perezvon.