"You! And not catch us?" said Katusha.
"One, two, three," and the artist clapped his hands. Katusha,
hardly restraining her laughter, changed places with Nekhludoff,
behind the artist's back, and pressing his large hand with her
little rough one, and rustling with her starched petticoat, ran
to the left. Nekhludoff ran fast to the right, trying to escape
from the artist, but when he looked round he saw the artist
running after Katusha, who kept well ahead, her firm young legs