United States or Mozambique ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
'Which was to be proved, said Shubin with comical dejection. 'After which I suppose it would be more seemly for me not to intrude on your solitary walk. A professor would ask you on what data you founded your answer no. I'm not a professor though, but a baby according to your ideas; but one does not turn one's back on a baby, remember. Good-bye! Peace to my ashes!
'Darya always leaves it about somewhere, said Anna Vassilyevna, and she walked away with a rustle of silk skirts. Shubin was about to follow her, but he stopped on hearing Uvar Ivanovitch's drawling voice behind him. 'I would... have given it you... young puppy, the retired cornet brought out in gasps. Shubin went up to him. 'And what have I done, then, most venerable Uvar Ivanovitch?
A mood of sadness had come upon Shubin; the breeze was blowing into his eyes and irritating him; he retired into the collar of his cloak and was on the point of tears. Uvar Ivanovitch was snoring blissfully, rocking from side to side. The carriages came to a standstill at last.
I have just recollected that I have never begged your pardon as I ought for my stupid behaviour yesterday. You are not angry with me, Elena Nikolaevna, are you? She stood still and did not answer him at once not because she was angry, but because her thoughts were far away. 'No, she said at last, 'I am not in the least angry. Shubin bit his lip.
On the little table by the bedside a candle was burning dimly beside a jug of kvas, and on the bed at Uvar ivanovitch's feet was sitting Shubin in a dejected pose. 'Yes, he was saying meditatively, 'she is married and getting ready to go away.
'The thirst for love, the thirst for happiness, nothing more! broke in Shubin. 'I, too, know those notes, I know the languor and the expectation which come upon the soul in the forest's shade, in its deep recesses, or at evening in the open fields when the sun sets and the river mist rises behind the bushes.
'My old tricks! repeated Shubin. 'It's a subject that's simply inexhaustible! To-day, particularly, she drove me out of all patience. 'Why so? inquired Elena. 'One would think you were speaking of some spiteful, disagreeable old woman. She is a pretty young girl.
Elena tried to keep near Bersenyev; she was not afraid of him, though he even knew part of her secret; she was safe under his wing from Shubin, who still persisted in staring at her not mockingly but attentively. Bersenyev, too, was thrown into perplexity during the evening: he had expected to see Elena more gloomy.
Elena, all in tears, had already taken her seat in the sledge; Insarov had carefully wrapped her feet up in a rug; Shubin, Bersenyev, the landlord, his wife, the little daughter, with the inevitable kerchief on her head, the doorkeeper, a workman in a striped bedgown, were all standing on the steps, when suddenly a splendid sledge, harnessed with spirited horses, flew into the courtyard, and from the sledge, shaking the snow off the collar of his cloak, leapt Nikolai Artemyevitch.
Shubin is in Rome; he is completely given up to his art and is reckoned one of the most remarkable and promising of young sculptors. Severe tourists consider that he has not sufficiently studied the antique, that he has 'no style, and reckon him one of the French school; he has had a great many orders from the English and Americans.
Word Of The Day