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Updated: May 18, 2025
But on both occasions Ivan Dmitritch was unusually excited and ill-humoured; he bade the doctor leave him in peace, as he had long been sick of empty chatter, and declared, to make up for all his sufferings, he asked from the damned scoundrels only one favour solitary confinement. Surely they would not refuse him even that?
To despise suffering, to be always contented, and to be surprised at nothing, one must reach this condition" and Ivan Dmitritch pointed to the peasant who was a mass of fat "or to harden oneself by suffering to such a point that one loses all sensibility to it that is, in other words, to cease to live.
Ivan Dmitritch was lying in the same position as on the previous day, with his head clutched in both hands and his legs drawn up. His face was not visible. "Good-day, my friend," said Andrey Yefimitch. "You are not asleep, are you?"
"Do what you like," said Pyotr Dmitritch, breathing hard, "only, for God's sake, make haste and fetch the doctor or the midwife! Has Vassily gone? Send some one else. Send your husband!" "It's the birth," Olga Mihalovna thought. "Varvara," she moaned, "but he won't be born alive!" "It's all right, it's all right, mistress," whispered Varvara. "Please God, he will be alive! he will be alive!"
"They were bought from Haidorov, in Lent," answered the coachman. "Capital horses. . . ." And Pyotr Dmitritch patted the trace horse on the haunch. "Well, you can start! God give you good luck!" The last visitor was gone at last; the red circle on the road quivered, moved aside, contracted and went out, as Vassily carried away the lamp from the entrance.
The house, with all their belongings, was sold by auction, and Ivan Dmitritch and his mother were left entirely without means. Hitherto in his father's lifetime, Ivan Dmitritch, who was studying in the University of Petersburg, had received an allowance of sixty or seventy roubles a month, and had had no conception of poverty; now he had to make an abrupt change in his life.
He is capable of reasoning and is interested in just the right things." While he was reading, and afterwards, while he was going to bed, he kept thinking about Ivan Dmitritch, and when he woke next morning he remembered that he had the day before made the acquaintance of an intelligent and interesting man, and determined to visit him again as soon as possible.
Stately gestures, a voice of thunder, "what," "to be sure," careless tones. . . . Everything, all that was ordinary and human, all that was individual and personal to himself that Olga Mihalovna was accustomed to seeing in him at home, vanished in grandeur, and in the presidential chair there sat not Pyotr Dmitritch, but another man whom every one called Mr. President.
You sucked the blood of others, and now they will suck yours. Excellent!" "It's a misunderstanding . . ." Andrey Yefimitch brought out, frightened by Ivan Dmitritch's words; he shrugged his shoulders and repeated: "It's some misunderstanding." Ivan Dmitritch spat again and lay down.
He most likely imagined that he had opened a shop. "Let me out," said Ivan Dmitritch, and his voice quivered. "I cannot." "But why, why?" "Because it is not in my power. Think, what use will it be to you if I do let you out? Go. The townspeople or the police will detain you or bring you back." "Yes, yes, that's true," said Ivan Dmitritch, and he rubbed his forehead. "It's awful!
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