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'There's no denying the fact, he pronounced, stroking his light brown whiskers, 'we've got girls here that beat any of your Venus of Medicis hollow.... Have you seen Vassilissa, the baker girl, for instance? ... Mr. Bublitsyn sucked at his pipe. Pyetushkov started.

If I have really been to blame in my conduct to you, then I must tell you: the hints of Mr. Bublitsyn were responsible for this, which was what I never expected. Anyway, I must humbly beg you not to be angry with me. I am a sensitive man, and any kindness I am most sensible of and grateful for. Do not be angry with me, Vassilissa Timofyevna, I beg you most humbly.

'But why do I ask you? pursued Bublitsyn, disappearing in a cloud of smoke, 'you're not the man to notice, don't you know, Ivan Afanasiitch! Goodness knows what you do to occupy yourself, Ivan Afanasiitch! 'The same as you do, Pyetushkov replied with some vexation, in a drawling voice. 'Oh no, Ivan Afanasiitch, not a bit of it.... How can you say so? 'Well, why not? 'Nonsense, nonsense.

He's got such a difficult name. 'Bublitsyn? 'Yes, yes ... Piotr Petrovitch. 'And do you know him? 'Rather! responded Vassilissa, with a wag of her head. Pyetushkov, without a word, paced ten times up and down the room. 'I say, Vassilissa, he said at last, 'that is, how do you know him? 'How do I know him? ... I know him ... He's such a nice gentleman.

'What am I thinking about? retorted Onisim; 'what am I thinking about? ... it's always about you. 'About me! 'Of course it's about you. 'Why, what is it you are thinking? 'Ashamed? 'Yes, ashamed.... Look at Mr. Bublitsyn, Ivan Afanasiitch.... Tell me if he's not a fine fellow, now. 'I don't understand you. 'You don't understand me.... Oh yes, you do understand me. Onisim paused. 'Mr.

Here is my family, this is it.... And here Bublitsyn and there Bublitsyn.

Bublitsyn called to Ivan Afanasiitch for no special reason, simply in the fulness of his inner satisfaction; he bowed to him with excessive friendliness and cordiality.

He ran into the yard she was not in the yard; into the street, looked up and down Vassilissa was nowhere to be seen. He ran without his cap as far as the market no, Vassilissa was not in sight. Slowly he returned to the baker's shop, clambered on to the stove, and turned with his face to the wall. He felt miserable. Bublitsyn ... Bublitsyn ... the name was positively ringing in his ears.

At first Pyetushkov bore up in an extraordinary way. He went out, and visited his comrades, with the exception, of course, of Bublitsyn; but in spite of the exaggerated approbation of Onisim, he almost went out of his mind at last from wretchedness, jealousy, and ennui. Conversations with Onisim about Vassilissa were the only thing that afforded him some consolation.

'Why so, why so? Bublitsyn stuck his pipe in the corner of his mouth, and began scrutinising his not very handsome boots. Pyetushkov felt embarrassed. 'Ah, Ivan Afanasiitch, Ivan Afanasiitch! pursued Bublitsyn, as though sparing his feelings. 'But as to Vassilissa, the baker girl, I can assure you: a very, ve-ry fine girl, ... ve-ry. Mr.