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Updated: May 24, 2025
I thought of Antip, and told him what I had seen. 'There, commented Anpadist, 'he will eat him up now; he'll simply eat the man up. The bailiff will beat him now. Such a poor, unlucky chap, come to think of it!
I began talking to Anpadist about the Shipilovka peasants, and Mr. Pyenotchkin, and asked him whether he knew the agent there. 'Sofron Yakovlitch? ... ugh! 'What sort of man is he? 'He's not a man; he's a dog; you couldn't find another brute like him between here and Kursk. 'Really? 'Why, Shipilovka's hardly reckoned as what's his name? Mr.
The bailiff drove a duck away from the puddle. The suppliants remained as they were a little, then looked at each other, and, without turning their heads, went on their way. Two hours later I was at Ryabovo, and making ready to begin shooting, accompanied by Anpadist, a peasant I knew well. Pyenotchkin had been out of humour with Sofron up to the time I left.
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