hot tea,
poured out by charming feminine hands?"

Liubka listened to his chatter, a trifle too noisy to seem fully
natural; and her smile, in the beginning mistrusting, wary, was
softening and brightening. But she did not get on with the tea
especially well. At home, in the backwoods village, where this beverage
was still held a rarity, the dainty luxury of well-to-do families, to
be brewed only for honored guests and on great holidays--there over the
pouring of the tea officiated the eldest man of the family. Later, when
Liubka served with "all found" in the little provincial capital city,
in the beginning at a priest's, and later with an insurance agent (who
had been the first to put her on the road of prostitution)--she was
usually left some strained, tepid tea, which had already been drunk
off, with a bit of gnawn sugar, by the mistress herself--the thin,
jaundiced, malicious wife of the priest; or the wife of the agent, a
fat, old, wrinkled, malignant, greasy, jealous and stingy common woman.
Therefore, the simple business of preparing the tea was now as
difficult for her as it is difficult for all of us in childhood to
distinguish the left hand from the right, or to tie a rope in a small
noose. The bustling Lichonin only hindered her and threw her into
confusion.

"My dear, the art of brewing tea is a great art. It ought to be studied
at Moscow. At first a dry teapot is slightly warmed up. Then the tea is
put into it and is quickly scalded with boiling water. The first liquid
must at once be poured off into the slop-bowl--the tea thus becomes
purer and more aromatic; and by the way, it's also known that Chinamen
are pagans and prepare their herb very filthily. After that the tea-pot
must be filled anew, up to a quarter of its volume; left on the tray,
covered over with a towel and kept so for three and a half minutes.
Afterwards pour in more boiling water almost up to the top, cover it
again, let it stay just a bit, and you have ready, my dear, a divine
beverage; fragrant, refreshing, and strengthening."

The homely, but pleasant-looking face of Liubka, all spotted from
freckles, like a cuckoo's egg, lengthened and paled a little.

"Well, for God's sake, don't you be angry at me ... You're called
Vassil Vassilich, isn't that so? Don't get angry, darling Vassil
Vassilich. Really, now, I'll learn fast, I'm quick. And why do you say
you and you[19] to me all the time? It seems that we aren't strangers
now?"