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Updated: June 12, 2025
Tall and supple, seated on a pile of wood, she repaired sacks, quickly moving her hands, which were bare up to the elbows, and she smiled at Foma all the time. "Foma Ignatyich!" he heard Yefim's reproachful voice, "you've showed off too much. Well, if it were only about fifty puds! But why so much? Look out that we don't get a good scolding for this." "Leave me alone!" said Foma, shortly.
You thought?" cried Mayakin, suddenly grown angry. "You thought nothing, you beardless youngster!" "Why do you abuse me?" Foma said. "Tell me, in your opinion, is seventy-five thousand roubles a big sum or not?" "Yes, a big sum," said Foma, after a moment's thought. "Ah, ha!" "But my father has much money. Why do you make such a fuss about it?" Yakov Tarasovich was taken aback.
"Death keeps an eye on me somewhere close by," he said one day morosely, but humbly. And indeed, it soon felled his big, sturdy body to the ground. This happened in August, early in the morning. Foma was sound asleep when suddenly he felt somebody shaking him by the shoulder, and a hoarse voice called at his ear: "Get up."
Foma looked at the wide strip of broken, struggling, and enraged waves at the stern of the steamer, and began to feel a wild desire to break or tear something; also to go, breast foremost, against the current and to mass its pressure against himself, against his breast and his shoulders. "Fate!" said someone beside him in a hoarse and weary voice.
Here Fomishka began to express his views on the modern French, saying that they had become very wicked nowadays! "What makes you think so, Foma Lavrentievitch?" "Look at the awful names they give themselves nowadays!" "What, for instance?" "Nogent Saint Lorraine, for instance! A regular brigand's name!"
And so, wondering, pondering, perplexed, amazed, whirling through the mad whirlpool of life, dancing the dance of death, groping for the nameless, indefinite something, the magic formula, the essence, the intrinsic fact, the flash of light through the murk and dark the rational sanction for existence, in short Foma Gordyeeff goes down to madness and death.
Then the better it is for me," said Medinskaya, calmly. She also arose from the couch, as though about to go away somewhere, but after a few seconds she again seated herself on the couch. Her face was serious, her lips were tightly compressed, but her eyes were lowered, and Foma could not see their expression.
"Have you no other words for me?" asked Foma, sternly, looking straight into the old man's face. And suddenly he noticed that his godfather shuddered, his legs trembled, his eyes began to blink repeatedly, and his hands clutched the door posts with an effort. Foma advanced toward him, presuming that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakov Tarasovich said in a dull and angry voice: "Stand aside.
A serious-looking peasant, with a big gray beard, who had not yet opened his mouth up to that time, suddenly opened it now, came closer to Foma and said slowly: "And even if we were to drink the Volga dry, and eat up that mountain, into the bargain that too would be forgotten, your Honour. Everything will be forgotten. Life is long.
"They're not idlers, they are clever people!" replied Foma, angrily, contradicting himself now. "And I learn from them. What am I? I know nothing. What was I taught? While there they speak of everything and each one has his word to say. Do not hinder me from being like a man." "Pooh! How you've learned to speak! With so much anger, like the hail striking against the roof!
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