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I've an uncle a celebrated man!".... 'Ha, ha! came Varvara's short, abrupt laugh. ....'Popka! Popka! Popka! the parrot dinned back at her. Sophia stood still in front of me, and looked me straight in the face. 'And you, what did you say? she asked; 'don't you remember? I could not help blushing. 'I don't remember! I expect I was pretty absurd too.
Varvara was standing with her shoulder against the window, looking into the street; Sophia was walking up and down the room with her arms folded across her bosom; Popka was shrieking. 'How do you do? I responded; 'how do you do, Sophia Nikolaevna? Where is Tatiana Vassilievna? 'She has gone to lie down, answered Sophia, still pacing the room.
His name's Popka. I went up, and bent down. 'Isn't he really sweet? She turned her face to me; but we were standing so close together, that she had to throw her head back to get a look at me with her clear eyes. I gazed at her; her rosy young face was smiling all over in such a friendly way that I smiled too, and almost laughed aloud with delight. The door opened; Mr. Ozhogin came in.
Sometimes he was unwell, and then he would shut himself up in his own room, and paint little pictures, or tease the old grey parrot, Popka. His wife, a sickly, consumptive woman, with hollow black eyes and a sharp nose, did not leave her sofa for days together, and was always embroidering cushion-covers in canvas.
In the Zlotnitskys' house there reigned a perpetual stillness; it was only broken by the piercing screams of Popka, but visitors soon got used to these, and were conscious again of the burden and oppression of the eternal stillness. Visitors, however, seldom looked in upon the Zlotnitskys; their house was a dull one.
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