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Updated: June 12, 2025
Foma shuddered whenever he heard his voice or his heavy, firm steps; but when the father, smiling kind-heartedly, and talking playfully in a loud voice, took him upon his knees or threw him high up in the air with his big hands the boy's fear vanished. Once, when the boy was about eight years old, he asked his father, who had returned from a long journey: "Papa, where were you?" "On the Volga."
Foma looked at her, smiling good-naturedly. And she answered him with a vague smile. Her eyes looked fatigued and sad. "You still keep on reading?" asked Foma. "Yes," the girl answered sadly. "And are you still lonesome?" "I feel disgusted, because I am alone. There's no one here to say a word to." "That's bad."
What did she tell you?" "That she is guilty," Foma ejaculated with difficulty, with a wry smile. "Is that all?" There was a ring of disappointment in the girl's question; Foma heard it and asked hopefully: "Isn't that enough?" "What will you do now?" "That's just what I am thinking about." "Do you love her very much?" Foma was silent.
He began to cough, coughed for a long time, with a groan, and when he had ceased, he said to his comrade in a choking voice: "Drop it, nothing will come of it!" His interlocutor bent his head mournfully, while Foma thought: "He speaks sensibly. It's evident he can reason well."
Foma heaved a deed sigh and said: "May I have some seltzer?" "Ah!" exclaimed the little man, and jumping up from his chair, appeared at the wide oilcloth-covered lounge, where Foma lay. "How do you do, comrade! Seltzer? Of course! With cognac or plain?"
A few days after her arrival in Kazan, Sasha became the mistress of a certain vodka-distiller's son, who was carousing together with Foma. Going away with her new master to some place on the Kama, she said to Foma: "Goodbye, dear man! Perhaps we may meet again. We're both going the same way! But I advise you not to give your heart free rein. Enjoy yourself without looking back at anything.
Foma listened to his chatter, now and then looking at the patroness, who was absorbed in a conversation with the chief of the police; Foma roared in reply to his interlocutor, pretending to be busy eating, and he wished that all this would end the sooner. He felt that he was wretched, stupid, ridiculous and he was certain that everybody was watching and censuring him.
But now Mayakin seized him by the hand and drew him up to himself. "There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat's only son." "Ah!" said the governor in his basso, "I'm very pleased.
She said nothing to this, but, lowering her head, she slowly began to finger the fringes of the towel. "You ought to get married," said Foma, feeling that he pitied her. "Leave me alone, please," answered Lubov, wrinkling her forehead. "Why leave you alone? You will get married, I am sure." "There!" exclaimed the girl softly, with a sigh. "That's just what I am thinking of it is necessary.
And Yozhov pinched his leg and asked: "Whose son are you? The Frantic's?" "Yes." "So. Do you wish me to prompt you always?" "Yes." "And what will you give me for it?" Foma thought awhile and asked: "And do you know it all yourself?" "I? I am the best pupil. You'll see for yourself." "Hey, there! Yozhov, you are talking again?" cried the teacher, faintly.
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