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"Yes," Mariana replied, a little surprised. "With Nejdanov?" "Yes." "Please give me your hand... and forgive me. You must be good since he loves you." Mariana pressed Mashurina's hand. "Have you known him long?" "I knew him in St. Petersburg. That was what made me talk to you. Sergai Mihailovitch has also told me " "Oh Markelov! Is it long since you've seen him? "No, not long.
"Well, and how is he?" "Markelov? He is the most honourable, most unselfish man in existence! He " Nejdanov wanted to tell Mariana about the portrait, but pulled himself up and added, "He is the soul of honour!" "Oh yes, I know." Mariana became pensive again. She suddenly turned to Nejdanov on the trunk they were both sitting on and asked quickly: "Well? What have you decided on?"
It's true he doesn't care for me... I'm not good-looking enough, but it's possible to sell me. That would also be considered charity." "Why didn't you " Nejdanov began, but stopped short. Mariana looked at him for an instant. "You wanted to ask why I didn't accept Mr. Markelov, isn't that so? Well, what could I do? He's a good man, but it's not my fault that I don't love him."
Fomishka, perhaps, speaks just a little more expressively. You are about to enter on a great undertaking, my dear friends; may be on a terrible conflict... Why not, before plunging into the stormy deep, take a dip in to " "Stagnant water," Markelov put in. "Stagnant if you like, but not putrid.
Markelov looked at him vacantly, but could hardly have recognised him, as he withdrew into his own thoughts. "Is this the branch?" the governor asked, pointing to Paklin with a long white finger adorned with a turquoise ring. "Oh, no!" Sipiagin exclaimed with a slight smile. "However, who knows!" he added after a moment's thought. "Your excellency," he said aloud, "the gentleman before you is Mr.
Some peasants had seized Markelov and brought him to the town. The stupid clerk had betrayed Golushkin, who was now under arrest, he in his turn was betraying everything and everybody, wanted to go over to the Orthodox Church, had offered to present a portrait of the Bishop Filaret to the public school, and had already given five thousand roubles to be distributed among crippled soldiers.
"But surely you're not really sorry that Paklin took us to his... what did he call them... poll-parrots? "As for that, there's nothing to be either sorry or glad about. I'm not interested in such people. That wasn't the misfortune I was referring to." "What was it then?" Markelov made no reply, but withdrew himself a little further into his corner, as if he were muffling himself up.
"Is that the man who manages a cotton factory?" Nejdanov asked, recalling what Sipiagin had said of him at table. "Yes, that is the man," Markelov replied. "You should get to know him. We have not sounded him as yet, but I believe he is an extremely capable man."
His bailiff, a small, short-sighted young man without a trace of authority or firmness in his bearing, was walking beside him, and merely kept on repeating, "Just so, sir," to Markelov's great disgust, who had expected more independence from him. Nejdanov went up to Markelov, and on looking into his face was struck by the same expression of spiritual weariness he was himself suffering from.
"A portrait?" she drawled out. "Is it a woman's?" She handed him the packet, which he took so clumsily that it slipped out of his hand and fell open. "Why... it's my portrait!" Mariana exclaimed quickly. "I suppose I may look at my own portrait." She took it out of Nejdanov's hand. "Did you do it?" "No... I didn't." "Who then? Markelov?" "Yes, you've guessed right."
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