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There was a brief silence they all looked at one another, but did not utter a word. "Well, goodbye, dear friends," Paklin exclaimed. "We must have bored you to death with our long visit. It is time for these gentlemen to be going, and I am going with them. Goodbye, thanks for your kindness." "Goodbye, goodbye, come again. Don't be on ceremony," Fomishka and Fimishka exclaimed together.
Neither Fomishka nor Fimishka had ever been ill, and if one or the other ever felt the slightest indisposition they would both drink some concoction made of lime-flower, rub warm oil on their stomachs, or drop hot candle grease on the soles of their feet and the little ailment would soon pass over. They spent their days exactly alike.
"Hunchbacks always have fingers like that." The visitors came upon Fomishka and Fimishka at the very minute when they had awakened from their afternoon nap and were drinking bilberry wine. "We are going into the eighteenth century!" Paklin exclaimed as they crossed the threshold of the Subotchevs' house.
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