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Updated: May 17, 2025
To Sergey Prohorovitch Pervushin. Trust this man. Feduly Ivanitch. And below, 'Send the cabbages, for God's sake. "I thanked the old man and without further discussion ordered my carriage and drove to Belyov. For I reflected, that though I suffered no harm from my nocturnal visitor, yet it was uncanny and in fact not quite the thing for a nobleman and an officer what do you think?"
"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here." There was a brief silence. "Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at him. "That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, the dulness! Oh, the dust! One would think he came from Grenada." She laughed.
And this was the counsel the old man gave me: that when I reached Belyov I should go into the market place and ask in the second shop on the right for one Prohoritch, and when I had found Prohoritch, put into his hand a writing and the writing consisted of a scrap of paper, on which stood the following words: 'In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen.
"And did you really go to Belyov?" murmured Finoplentov. "Straight to Belyov. I went into the market place and asked at the second shop on the right for Prohoritch. 'Is there such a person? I asked. 'Yes, they told me.
Sorcery, indeed! 'And if it is not sorcery, what is it, then? The old man was silent again; again he scratched himself and said at last, but in a muffled voice, for his moustache was all over his mouth: 'You go to the town of Belyov. There is no one who can help you but one man. And that man lives in Belyov. He is one of our people.
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