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Updated: May 3, 2025
'And now, apparently said Korobotchka to the Archpriest's wife, 'I am altogether at a loss what to do, for, throwing me fifteen roubles, the man forced me to sign a worthless paper yes, me, an inexperienced, defenceless widow who knows nothing of business. That such things should happen! TRY and imagine my feelings!" "In my opinion, there is in this more than the dead souls which meet the eye."
Presently I moved outside and, seating myself on the steps of the veranda, fell to contemplating the dull, blurred windows of the Archpriest's house on the other side of the square, and to watching how black shadows kept flitting to and fro behind their panes as the faint, lugubrious notes of a guitar made themselves heard.
Had that been all, it would have been nothing. No. Listen to what Father Cyril's wife had to tell me. She said that, last night, a lady landowner named Madame Korobotchka arrived at the Archpriest's house arrived all pale and trembling and told her, oh, such things! They sound like a piece out of a book.
If disappointed at receiving no definite appointment, he concealed his chagrin, and, though evidently not desiring his services in Curia, one of Adrian's first acts upon arriving in Rome was to invest him with the archpriest's benefice of Ocaña in Spain.
Razumov was supposed to be the son of an Archpriest and to be protected by a distinguished nobleman perhaps of his own distant province. But his outward appearance accorded badly with such humble origin. Such a descent was not credible. It was, indeed, suggested that Mr. Razumov was the son of an Archpriest's pretty daughter which, of course, would put a different complexion on the matter.
When they had travelled a few hours, they fell into an ambuscade of militia, and were marched back to the archpriest's quarters at Pont-de-Montvert. The women were sent to Mende to be immured in convents, and the men were imprisoned in the archpriest's dungeons. The parents of some of the captives ran to throw themselves at his feet, and implored mercy for their sons; but Chayla was inexorable.
The guest's tone was almost piteous in its appeal. "What is it, then?" "You cannot imagine my state of mind! You see, this morning I received a visit from Father Cyril's wife the Archpriest's wife you know her, don't you? Well, whom do you suppose that fine gentleman visitor of ours has turned out to be?" "The man who has built the Archpriest a poultry-run?" "Oh dear no!
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