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Tell us. 'Well, this is what happened. You don't know, perhaps, Fedya, but there a drowned man was buried; he was drowned long, long ago, when the water was still deep; only his grave can still be seen, though it can only just be seen ... like this a little mound.... So one day the bailiff called the huntsman Yermil, and says to him, "Go to the post, Yermil."
Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him helplessly. "Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down to the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all right? Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss."
"To defend yourself is your right," said Pavel. "But take care not to attack!" "You are delicate and thin," observed the mother. "What do you want with fighting?" "I WILL fight!" answered Fedya in a low voice. When he left, the mother said to Pavel: "This young man will go down sooner than all the rest." Pavel was silent. A few minutes later the kitchen door opened slowly and Rybin entered.
'That ne'er-do-weel has school-learning, observed Hor, 'and his bees never die in the winter. 'But haven't you had your children taught to read? Hor was silent a minute. 'Fedya can read. 'And the others? 'The others can't. 'And why? The old man made no answer, and changed the subject. However, sensible as he was, he had many prejudices and crotchets.
"Yes," replied Marya Dmitrievna, "she's in the garden." "And Elena Mihalovna?" "Lenotchka's in the garden too. Is there no news?" "There is indeed!" replied the visitor, slowly blinking his eyes and pursing up his mouth. "Hm!... yes, indeed, there is a piece of news, and very surprising news too. Lavretsky Fedor Ivanitch is here." "Fedya!" cried Marfa Timofyevna.
"He's a brainy old man!" said the Little Russian, nodding his head. "We often have talks with him. He's a fine peasant. Will they let Fedya out soon?" "Yes, one of these days, I suppose. They'll let out all, I think. They have no evidence except Isay's, and what can he say?" The mother walked up and down the room, and looked at her son.
In a well-cultivated clearing in the middle of the forest rose Hor's solitary homestead. It consisted of several pine-wood buildings, enclosed by plank fences; a porch ran along the front of the principal building, supported on slender posts. We went in. We were met by a young lad of twenty, tall and good-looking. 'Ah, Fedya! is Hor at home? Mr. Polutikin asked him. 'No.
Sasha stopped, turned around, extending her hand. "I'm acquainted with Fedya. My name is Alexandra." "And your patronymic?" She looked at him and answered: "I have no father." "He's dead, you mean?" "No, he's alive." Something stubborn, persistent, sounded in the girl's voice and appeared in her face. "He's a landowner, a chief of a country district. He robs the peasants and beats them.
A nurse followed, carrying Fedya. Piotr Andreitch looked at her without speaking; she went up to kiss his hand; her trembling lips were only just able to touch it with a silent kiss. "Well, my upstart lady," he brought out at last, "how do you do? let us go to the mistress." He got up and bent over Fedya: the baby smiled and held out his little white hands to him. This changed the old man's mood.
And I have an abscess on my finger!" he mumbled. "What are we to do?" asked Vlasova, wiping the perspiration from her face with a hand that trembled nervously. "Wait a while! Don't be afraid," answered Fedya, running his sound hand through his curly hair. "But you are afraid yourself!" "I?" He reddened and smiled in embarrassment. "Yes h-m I had a fit of cowardice, the devil take it!
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