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Elisaveta lay down at her side under the bed-cover, and told her about her great love, her great joy. Elena rejoiced and laughed and kissed her sister without end. Then Elisaveta put on her morning dress, and went to her father to tell him about her joy, her happiness.
"And what is necessary?" asked Elisaveta. "I don't know," answered Trirodov sadly. "What do you desire?" she asked again. "Perhaps I desire nothing," said Trirodov. "There are moments when I seem to expect nothing from life; I do what I do unwillingly, as if it were a disagreeable action." "How do you live then?" asked Elisaveta in astonishment. He replied: "I live in a strange and unreal world.
In the midst of these open, heat-swept spaces, Trirodov, drawn at this moment into the crowded town life, was addressing his companion in dull, everyday words: "They searched many houses early this morning. They found a great deal of literature at Stchemilov's. He's been arrested." He also repeated the rumour of whippings at the police-station. Elisaveta was silent.
He looked quickly at the sisters with his clear, intensely calm, almost dead eyes. There was something strange in the shape of his pale lips, thought Elisaveta. A motionless, sorrowful expression lurked in the corners of his mouth. He opened the gate; he seemed to say something, but so quietly that the sisters could not catch his words.
Elisaveta rose and looked around her: a light green Grecian tunic draped her tired body within its broad folds. Elisaveta thought: "How shall I manage to walk so far?" And as if in answer to her question, she suddenly caught sight of a light trap under the trees. Some one said: "Kirsha will drive you home." In her strange dress Elisaveta returned home. She sat silently in the trap.
Or let us admit that they are significant. What I wish to say is that politics and all that separates us is only a light scum, a momentary froth on the broad surface of our life. In love there is revelation, there is eternal truth. He who does not love, he who does not strive towards union with a beloved, he is dead." "I love the people, I love freedom," said Elisaveta quietly.
He brought as a gift to Elisaveta a photograph he had taken of his first wife upon her nude body was a bronze belt, its ends coming down to the knees being joined up in the front; upon her dark hair was a narrow round strip of gold. A slender, graceful body a melancholy smile intense dark eyes. "Father knows," said Elisaveta. "Father is glad. Let us go to him."
"Yes," said Trirodov sadly. "The short moments passed by rapidly. Was there love? I cannot say. There was passion, a smouldering and death." "Life will again bring its delights to you," said Elisaveta confidently. And Trirodov answered: "Yes, it will be a different life, but what's that to me?
"Let us go over there, comrade Valentine." The names were pronounced tenderly. A man in a cap, black shirt, and high boots, walked up to Elisaveta. He had a small black beard and moustache, and his face, which was both familiar and unfamiliar, had something in it that stirred her. He exclaimed: "Elisaveta, you don't recognize me?" She recognized him at once by his voice. A warmth suffused her.
"They are all charming," said Elena with greater assurance. "Yes," observed Elisaveta, with indecision in her voice. "But there is that other the one that ran away from us there's something I don't like about her. Perhaps it's a slight veneer of hypocrisy." "Why do you say so?" asked Elena. "I simply feel it. She smiles too pleasantly, too lovingly.
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