United States or Martinique ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
And Gurov, whose heart was beating violently, thought: "Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra! . . ." And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would never meet again. But how far they were still from the end!
Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him.
The front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could not remember the dog's name.
She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown Department or under the Provincial Council and was amused by her own ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna. Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel thought she would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen.
Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without looking at Gurov. "The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? Shall we drive somewhere?" She made no answer.
Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile: "Good-evening." She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. Both were silent.
After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since the evening before.
On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands. "What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing him away. "We are mad.
Gurov told her that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow. . . . And from her he learnt that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S since her marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and fetch her.
Useless pursuits and conversations always about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or getting away from it just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison. Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation.
Word Of The Day