“Why, this very day,” she said, addressing Teresa, who stood in the road, “I had taken five pieces of linen out into the orchard to bleach.... After breakfast, behold, I come out to sprinkle them—one is missing!... I seek it!—Swallowed by the earth, as it were!—And lo, I had weighted it with stones; and of wind there was none at all!... Good linen, fine linen! Ye could get none better at any shop ... and behold, it is gone!” “Your eyelids are so puffed out with fat, you could not see it!” “I could not, for you, thief, have stolen it!” she vociferated. “I, a thief!—Say, oh, say that once more!” “You thief! you thief! Thereto, and before all men, will I bear witness! And that you’ll confess when I take you to jail in irons!” “She—she has called me a thief!—People, have ye heard? As there’s a God, I’ll bring an action for that.—Ye all have heard her. What, have I robbed you, you blockhead? where are your witnesses?” At that, the Voyt’s wife snatched up a stake, and dashed out into the road with the rush of an infuriated dog, shrieking: “I’ll witness it on you with my stick! I’ll prove it! I’ll....” “Come on, my lady Voyt! Yah! only touch me, you pig! Only touch me, you scarecrow of a bitch!” she cried, running forward likewise. She pushed aside her goodman, who would have kept her back, and with legs wide apart and arms akimbo, called out jeering: “Strike me, strike me, my lady Voyt, and you’ll lie in jail for it!” “Hold your peace, woman!” the Voyt interposed, “or I’ll send you off to jail first!” “Lock up your own mad dog, ’tis your duty; tie up your wife with a rope, lest she bite!” Kozlova screamed, exasperated. “Woman!” he shouted, threatening her. “When I speak, do respect my office!” “I spit on your office”—but the words used were bolder far—“do you understand me? He threaten, he?—Look at him! He may just as well have stolen the stuff himself to get his light-o’-love a smock! Why, the money of the community is all gone that way; you have drunk it all, you toss-pot!—Oh, we know about your doings, never fear!—Aye, you too, my lord the Voyt, will lie in jail!” This was the last straw: both of them flew at her like wolves. The Voyt’s wife hit her first with her stick across the face, and then, with a savage cry, went at her with her nails, while the Voyt belaboured her wherever he could find a place. Bartek flew instantly to the rescue of his wife. They all three closed together like fighting dogs; no one could tell whose fists, whose heads, were seen whirling through the air, nor whose voices were bellowing. From fence to road, from road to fence, they went staggering and tossing like sheaves blown along in a great wind, till in their fury of fighting they fell to the ground on a sandheap. Plunging in a cloud of dust, they were audible still with their imprecations and invectives; but presently they got out into the road, fighting and shrieking at the top of their voices.