pomaded.
“Oh, Papa! how nice you look! Charming!” cried Natásha, as she stood in the middle of the room smoothing out the folds of the gauze.
“If you please, Miss! allow me,” said the maid, who on her knees was pulling the skirt straight and shifting the pins from one side of her mouth to the other with her tongue.
“Say what you like,” exclaimed Sónya, in a despairing voice as she looked at Natásha, “say what you like, it’s still too long.”
Natásha stepped back to look at herself in the pier glass. The dress was too long.
“Really, madam, it is not at all too long,” said Mávrusha, crawling on her knees after her young lady.
“Well, if it’s too long we’ll tack it up … we’ll tack it up in one minute,” said the resolute Dunyásha taking a needle that was stuck on