Agatha Mikhaylovna, with a flushed face and aggrieved expression, her hair ruffled and her thin arms bared to the elbow, was shaking the preserving pan over the brazier with a circular movement, looking dismally at the raspberries and hoping with all her heart that they would harden and not get cooked through.
Agaf’ja Michajlovna, col viso rosso e crucciato, i capelli arruffati e le braccia magre nude fino al gomito, faceva dondolare circolarmente la casseruolina sul braciere e guardava torva i lamponi, desiderando con tutta l’anima che si rappigliassero e che non finissero di cuocere.