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Updated: June 16, 2025
'Going shopping, I suppose? queried Ivan Afanasiitch, fidgeting with his feet. 'How inquisitive we are! retorted Vassilissa. 'Why inquisitive? said Pyetushkov, hurriedly gesticulating with his hands. 'Quite the contrary.... Oh yes, you know, he added hastily, as though these last words completely conveyed his meaning. 'Did you eat my roll?
Why, suppose some one comes on urgent business, and asks, "Where's Ivan Afanasiitch?" And then you can tell him, "Ivan Afanasiitch has gone here or there." 'Urgent business.... But who ever does come to you on urgent business? 'Why, are you beginning to be rude again? Again, hey? Onisim turned away, and fell to brushing the coat. 'Really, Onisim, you are a most disagreeable person.
I might die, I dare say, you wouldn't grieve. 'Ah, Ivan Afanasiitch, one can't be always thinking of one thing, one's got one's work to do. 'To be sure, responded Pyetushkov; 'but all the same ... And it's improper to laugh at your elders.... It's not right. Moreover, it's as well in certain cases ... But where's my pipe? 'Here's your pipe. Pyetushkov began smoking.
'Give over, do, for shame, in the street. 'Come now, there, there, muttered Ivan Afanasiitch. 'Give over, I tell you, in the street.... Don't be rude. 'A ... a ... ah, what a girl you are! said Pyetushkov reproachfully, while he blushed up to his ears. Vassilissa stood still. 'Now go along with you, sir go along, do. Pyetushkov obeyed.
'Are you unwell, Ivan Afanasiitch? he asked Pyetushkov. Pyetushkov made no answer. 'Shall I go for the doctor? Onisim continued, after a brief pause. 'I'm quite well.... Go away, Ivan Afanasiitch articulated huskily. 'Well? ... no, you're not well, Ivan Afanasiitch.... Is this what you call being well? Pyetushkov did not speak. 'Just look at yourself.
Praskovia Ivanovna wiped her face with a parti-coloured handkerchief; Ivan Afanasiitch continued with intense attention to gaze away to one side. Both were rather uncomfortable.
Some weeks went by. Ivan Afanasiitch had completely forgotten Vassilissa, and chatted in a friendly way with his servant as before. One fine morning there came to see him a certain Bublitsyn, an easy-mannered and very agreeable young man.
'You couldn't get any rolls, he said to his Onisim; 'but here, I've got one, do you see? Onisim gave a bitter laugh. The same day, in the evening, as Ivan Afanasiitch was undressing, he asked his servant, 'Tell me, please, my lad, what's the girl like at the baker's, hey? Onisim looked away rather gloomily, and responded, 'What do you want to know for?
Pyetushkov flushed red. 'No, Onisim, I don't wish it. It is all nonsense. Yesterday, I ... It's a disgrace. You are right. One must cut it all short, once for all, as they say. Isn't that true? 'It's the gospel truth your honour speaks, Ivan Afanasiitch. Pyetushkov sank again into reverie. He wondered at himself, he did not seem to know himself. He sat without stirring and stared at the floor.
After gossiping a little with Ivan Afanasiitch about the neighbours, about horses, the daughters of the gentry around, and other such edifying topics, Mr. Bublitsyn suddenly winked, pulled up his shock of hair, and, with a sly smile, approached the remarkably dim looking-glass which was the solitary ornament of Ivan Afanasiitch's room.
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