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.
Agafia Mijailovna, con el rostro encarnado y afligido, los cabellos revueltos y los delgados brazos descubiertos hasta el codo, hacía girar lentamente la cacerola sobre el hornillo y miraba tristemente las fresas, deseando con toda su alma que quedaran duras y no se pudiesen comer.