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Updated: June 16, 2025
Bublitsyn dilated his nostrils, and slowly plunged his hands into his pockets. Strange to relate, Ivan Afanasiitch felt something of the nature of jealousy. He began moving restlessly in his chair, burst into explosive laughter at nothing at all, suddenly blushed, yawned, and, as he yawned, his lower jaw twitched a little. Bublitsyn smoked three more pipes, and withdrew.
In the year 182- ... there was living in the town of O the lieutenant Ivan Afanasiitch Pyetushkov. He was born of poor parents, was left an orphan at five years old, and came into the charge of a guardian. Thanks to this guardian, he found himself with no property whatever; he had a hard struggle to make both ends meet.
'Silence! No arguing! sounded after Pyetushkov the disjointed exclamations of his exasperated superior officer. A queer sensation overmastered Ivan Afanasiitch when, at last, he found himself in the street. 'Why am I walking as it were in a dream? he thought to himself. 'Am I out of my mind, or what? Why, it passes all belief, at last.
He went in to Ivan Afanasiitch. Pyetushkov was standing in the middle of the room, both hands in his pockets, his legs excessively wide apart; he was slightly swaying backwards and forwards. His face was hot, and his eyes were sparkling. 'Hullo, Onisim, he faltered amiably, articulating the consonants very indistinctly and thickly: 'hullo, my lad.
'Ah, Vassilissa! Let bygones be bygones. Isn't that right? Come, you're not angry with me, are you? 'You keep abusing me, Vassilissa repeated. 'I won't, my love, I won't. Forgive an old man like me. I'll never do it in future. Come, you've forgiven me, eh? 'God be with you, Ivan Afanasiitch. 'Come, laugh then, laugh. Vassilissa turned away.
Onisim looked at Pyetushkov and plumped heavily down on his knees. 'Dear master, Ivan Afanasiitch, he cried, 'your honour! Be pleased to punish me. I'm a fool. I've troubled you, Ivan Afanasiitch.... How did I dare! Be pleased to punish me, your honour.... It's not worth your while to weep over my silly words ... dear master. Ivan Afanasiitch....
Vassilissa let her head drop backwards, spread out her hands, stared into Ivan Afanasiitch's face, and suddenly went off into a loud harsh guffaw ... she fairly rolled about with laughing. Ivan Afanasiitch flung the book on the floor in his annoyance. Vassilissa went on laughing. 'Why, what are you laughing at, silly? Vassilissa roared more than ever.
That's what would be just. I won't dispute that. Ivan Afanasiitch gave a lurch backwards. Onisim ran forward and held his master up. 'And who's to blame for it? I'll tell you, if you like, who's to blame. I'm to blame, in the first place. What ought I to have said? I ought to have said to you: Vassilissa, I love you. Good well, will you marry me? Will you?
Ivan Afanasiitch went straight to meet her, took her by the hand, and rather coolly, but resolutely, said to her: 'Come along with me. 'But, excuse me, Ivan Afanasiitch ... I ... 'Come with me, he repeated. She obeyed. Pyetushkov led her to his lodgings. Onisim, as usual, was lying at full length asleep. Ivan Afanasiitch waked him, told him to light a candle.
The fat woman bowed to him. Tightly grasping his hat, Pyetushkov approached her. Praskovia Ivanovna was apparently anticipating an honoured guest; her dress was fastened up at every hook. Pyetushkov sat down on a chair; Praskovia Ivanovna seated herself opposite him. 'I have come to you, Praskovia Ivanovna, more on account of.... Ivan Afanasiitch began at last and then ceased.
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