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"You will have to account for it, Boris Platonovich, as even an old friend and relative must think over those accusations." Then Mikhalovsky explained that Misha's man followed the lady up to the house, and that it was Maroossia.

Maroossia read the news of Mikhalovsky's accident in the papers in Tula, and came yesterday. "Nothing could stop me," she said, crying bitterly, and leaning on me so that I would not be too angry. "Dearest, everything is so strange! Misha's death, and Boris Platonovich's death!... Please, let us go away somewhere, I cannot think of you, here alone...."

This cup I had often seen in Misha's hands, and once he had even said to me, speaking of some poor fellow, that he really was destitute, since he had neither cup nor bowl, 'while I, see, have this anyway. I thanked her, took the cup, and asked: 'Of what complaint had Misha died? No doubt....

Wasn't it you? ... O God! everywhere nothing but injustice, and oppression, and evil-doing.... Everything must go to ruin then, and me too! I don't care for life, I don't care for life in Russia! And the spade moved faster than ever in Misha's hands. 'Here's a devil of a business! thought the money-lender; 'he's positively burying himself alive. 'Mihail Andreevitch, he began again: 'listen.

"I will not pay in money, that's true but I will shoot a hole through my left hand with this pistol here!" "But what profit is there for me in that?" "No profit whatever but it's a curious thing, nevertheless." This conversation took place after a carouse, in the presence of witnesses. Whether Mísha's proposal really did strike the officer as curious or not, at all events, he consented.

I had living in my house at that time an old aunt with her niece; both of them were extremely disturbed when they heard of Misha's presence; they could not comprehend how I could have asked him into my house! There were very ugly rumours about him. But in the first place, I knew he was always very courteous with ladies; and, secondly, I counted on his promises of amendment.

I still preserve a distinct recollection of Mísha's father, Andréi Nikoláevitch Pólteff.

They were all fairly petrified with horror.... A good minute passed, and they heard Mísha's voice proceeding as though from the bowels of the earth, and very dull: "I'm whole! I landed on sand.... But the descent was long! Ten rubles on you!" "Climb out!" shouted his comrades. "Yes, climb out!" returned Mísha. "Damn it! One can't climb out of here!

He came into God's world, I remember, in 1828, at his father's native place and property, in one of the sleepiest corners of a sleepy province of the steppes. Misha's father, Andrei Nikolaevitch Poltyev, I remember well to this day.

'But if you lose, you don't pay. 'The money certainly I can't pay, but I'll put a shot through my left hand, see, with this pistol here! 'But whatever use will that be to me? 'No use, but still it will be curious. This conversation took place after a drinking bout in the presence of witnesses. Whether it was that Misha's proposition struck the officer as really curious anyway he agreed.