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"You say that of your own brother?" asked the lame man. "Relationship? Are you laughing at me?" "And besides, to work for aristocrats and to obey them as though they were gods is contemptible!" observed the girl-student fiercely. "What I propose is not contemptible; it's paradise, an earthly paradise, and there can be no other on earth," Shigalov pronounced authoritatively.
I've never been an agent of the Secret Police." "And no one here has," voices cried again. "It's an unnecessary question. Every one will make the same answer. There are no informers here." "What is that gentleman getting up for?" cried the girl-student. "That's Shatov. What are you getting up for?" cried the lady of the house. Shatov did, in fact, stand up.
"How so?" said the girl-student, craning forward suddenly. But there was an audible titter in the group of teachers, which was at once caught up at the other end by Lyamshin and the schoolboy and followed by a hoarse chuckle from the major. "You ought to write vaudevilles," Madame Virginsky observed to Stavrogin.
"I sympathise with your question, I sympathise entirely," the girl-student broke in hotly, flushed with indignation at the major's words. "We are wasting precious time listening to silly talk," snapped out the lady of the house, and she looked reprovingly at her husband. The girl pulled herself together.
"If he were an informer he would have kept up appearances instead of cursing it all and going away," observed some one. "See, Stavrogin is getting up too. Stavrogin has not answered the question either," cried the girl-student. Stavrogin did actually stand up, and at the other end of the table Kirillov rose at the same time. "Excuse me, Mr.
It was her ambition in life to be taken for a Russian girl-student, and she had spent weeks of patient research in trying to find out exactly where you put the tea-leaves in a samovar.
To disregard conventions, even the most innocent is not stale; on the contrary, to the disgrace of every one, so far it's a novelty," the girl-student answered instantly, darting forward on her chair. "Besides, there are no innocent conventions," she added with intensity.
From a young girl-student, one insignificant person among scores of others similarly insignificant, she had become a prominent personality, some one in whom even the great, busy, hurrying world paused to take an interest, and of whom the newspapers wrote eulogistic notices, heralding her as the coming English prima donna.
And when that essentially modern creature, the English or American girl-student, began to walk calmly into his favourite inns as if into a drawing-room at home, the French painter owned himself defenceless; he submitted or he fled. His French respectability, quite as precise as ours, though covering different provinces of life, recoiled aghast before the innovation.
That's the question. What's your opinion?" "What do you mean by 'come about'?" Stavrogin asked in his turn. "We know, for instance, that the superstition about God came from thunder and lightning." The girl-student rushed into the fray again, staring at Stavrogin with her eyes almost jumping out of her head.
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