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Tamara tell you everything ... I can not, I am not able to ... This is so horrible! ..." Tamara briefly, lucidly, narrated to Ryazanov all the sad history of Jennka's death; recalled also about the card left with Jennie; and also how the deceased had reverently preserved this card; and in passing about his promise to help in case of need.
Proforma, he ordered Jennka's body to be borne away into the room that had been hers, and tried with the help of the same Simeon to produce artificial respiration; but after five minutes gave it up as a bad job, fixed the pince-nez, which had become crooked, on his nose, and said: "Call the police in to make a protocol."
The light of the candle in thin gold spirals shone in her bronze-chestnut hair; while she could not tear her eyes away from the lines of Jennka's moist, yellow forehead and the tip of her nose, which were visible to Tamara from her place. "Dust thou art and unto dust shalt thou return ..." she was mentally repeating the words of the canticles.
The beaten-up Liubka kept on crawling before the housekeeper until she was taken back. She knew that Jennka's outbreak would sooner or later be reflected upon her in a cruel repayment. Jennka sat on her bed until the very night, her legs crossed Turkish fashion; refused dinner, and chased out all her mates who went in to her.
Let them all perish, the honest skunks!" Tamara carefully and tenderly stroked Jennka's head. "Can it be that you'll go the limit, Jennechka?" "Yes. And without any mercy. All of you, however, don't have to be afraid of me. I choose the man myself. The stupidest, the handsomest, the richest and the most important, but not to one of you will I let them go afterward. Oh!
Tamara sat down on Jennka's bed, gently embraced her, and, having put her mouth near her very ear, said in a whisper: "What's the matter, Jennechka? I've seen for a long time that something strange is going on in you. And Manka feels that too. Just see, how she's wasted without your caressing. Tell me. Perhaps I'll be able to help you in some way?"
You see, how good-looking you are, that a wench does not grudge even money for you?" she began laughing. Gladishev turned around to her; even his unobserving ear was struck by Jennka's strange tone neither sad, nor kindly, nor yet mocking. "No, sweetie, I'd be very glad to; I'd like to remain myself, but I can't possibly; I promised to be home toward ten o'clock."
Me, a person who could be a very good friend to you! Well, what will you say to that?" "Well ... nothing at all, Emma Edwardovna," retorted Tamara in the meekest and most plausible tone. "Everything was very simple. Even before that I found the revolver under Jennka's pillow and brought it, in order to give it over to you.
And, having kissed Jennka's hand once more, he was the last to go down the stairs. On Thursday, since very morning, a ceaseless, fine drizzle had begun to fall, and so the leaves of the chestnuts, acacias, and poplars had at once turned green. And, suddenly, it became somehow dreamily quiet and protractedly tedious. Pensive and monotonous.
During this all the girls had gathered, as usual, in Jennka's room. But something strange was going on within her. She did not utter witticisms, did not laugh, did not read, as always, her usual yellow-back novel which was now lying aimlessly either on her breast or stomach; but was vicious, wrapped up in sadness, and in her eyes blazed a yellow fire that spoke of hatred.
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