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Updated: June 24, 2025
Fyodor, sullen and gloomy, was staring at her from one corner, and in the other sat Pobyedimsky, snorting angrily and retreating into the high collar of his shirt. My uncle was walking up and down the room thinking. Silence reigned; nothing was to be heard but the rustling of the linen in Tatyana Ivanovna's hands.
Before Fyodor had time to say good-morning the contents of the mortar suddenly flared up and burned with a bright red flame; there was a stink of sulphur and burnt feathers, and the room was filled with a thick pink smoke, so that Fyodor sneezed five times; and as he returned home afterwards, he thought: "Anyone who feared God would not have anything to do with things like that."
“Precisely to our time,” cried Fyodor Pavlovitch, “but no sign of my son, Dmitri. “But you are not a king, anyway,” Miüsov muttered, losing his self-restraint at once. “Yes; that’s true. I’m not a king, and, would you believe it, Pyotr Alexandrovitch, I was aware of that myself. But, there! I always say the wrong thing.
Because he was not an habitual thief and had never directly stolen anything before, for he is a gentleman born, and if he did bring himself to steal, it would not be regular stealing, but simply taking what was his own, for he’d told the whole town he meant to before, and had even bragged aloud before every one that he’d go and take his property from Fyodor Pavlovitch.
I declare to you all that I was as much deceived as any one.” “Dmitri Fyodorovitch,” yelled Fyodor Pavlovitch suddenly, in an unnatural voice, “if you were not my son I would challenge you this instant to a duel ... with pistols, at three paces ... across a handkerchief,” he ended, stamping with both feet.
Fyodor Pavlovitch could not show him where his second wife was buried, for he had never visited her grave since he had thrown earth upon her coffin, and in the course of years had entirely forgotten where she was buried. Fyodor Pavlovitch, by the way, had for some time previously not been living in our town.
When we boys began to get big, we had at first a German tutor for two or three years, Fyodor Fyodorovitch Kaufmann. I cannot say that we were particularly fond of him. He was rather rough, and even we children were struck by his German stupidity. His redeeming feature was that he was a devoted sportsman.
"I beg you, your honor Satan Ivanitch, to be graciously pleased to make me a rich man." "Certainly. Only for that you must give me up your soul! Before the cocks crow, go and sign on this paper here that you give me up your soul." "Your honor," said Fyodor politely, "when you ordered a pair of boots from me I did not ask for the money in advance.
"So you are not going home to-night?" he asked, stopping near the dark window and poking with his little finger into the cage where a canary was asleep with its feathers puffed out. Father Anastasy started, coughed cautiously and said rapidly: "Home? I don't care to, Fyodor Ilyitch. I cannot officiate, as you know, so what am I to do there?
'He does interest you... said Fyodor Fedoritch, with a sly twinkle of his blue and kindly eyes. 'Yes... he must be very unhappy. 'He unhappy? What makes you suppose so? And Fyodor Fedoritch laughed. 'You don't know... you don't know... Masha solemnly shook her head with an important air. 'Me not know? How's that?... Masha shook her head again and glanced towards Lutchkov.
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