United States or Saint Helena, Ascension, and Tristan da Cunha ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Someone stopped at the gate, and the latch rattled as someone tried to open it. Mavra Kuzminichna went to the gate. "Who do you want?" "The count Count Ilya Andreevich Rostov." "And who are you?" "An officer, I have to see him," came the reply in a pleasant, well-bred Russian voice. Mavra Kuzminichna opened the gate and an officer of eighteen, with the round face of a Rostov, entered the yard.
What about?" cried Ilya Petrovitch. He was obviously in an exceedingly good humour and perhaps a trifle exhilarated. I must admit, I... what is it, what is it? Excuse me...." "Raskolnikov." "Of course, Raskolnikov. You didn't imagine I'd forgotten? Don't think I am like that... Rodion Ro Ro Rodionovitch, that's it, isn't it?" "Rodion Romanovitch." "Yes, yes, of course, Rodion Romanovitch!
They'll convict you to the galleys. Goodbye, Ilya! You are building your steamers in vain. They'll transport you to Siberia on a government vessel." Kononov sank into a chair; his blood leaped to his face, and he shook his fist in silence. Foma said hoarsely: "Very well. Good. I shall not forget it."
"Someone is knocking again!" I could not help laughing. "No, excuse me, Ilya Stepanitch! This time it is your nerves. You see, it is getting light. In ten minutes the sun will be up it is past three o'clock and ghosts have no power in the day." Tyeglev cast a gloomy glance at me and muttering through his teeth "good-bye," lay down on the bench and turned his back on me.
I imagined that I descried in the blue dusk of the distant steppe Ilya of Murom approaching on his good steed Cloudfall, armed with a damp oak uprooted from Damp Mother Earth, and dragging at his saddle-bow fierce, hissing Nightingale the Robber, with one eye still fixed on Kieff, one on Tchernigoff, after his special and puzzling habit, and whom Little Russian tradition declares was chopped up into poppy seeds, whence spring the sweet-voiced nightingales of the present day.
The massive "Ilya Murometz," heaving a mighty sigh, emitted a thick column of white steam toward the side of the landing-bridge, and started upstream easily, like a swan. "How it started off," enthusiastically exclaimed commercial counsellor Lup Grigoryev Reznikov, a tall, thin, good-looking man. "Without a quiver! Like a lady in the dance!" "Half speed!"
"He could hardly hold his pen when he was signing," said the head clerk, settling back in his place, and taking up his work again. "Have you been ill long?" cried Ilya Petrovitch from his place, where he, too, was looking through papers. He had, of course, come to look at the sick man when he fainted, but retired at once when he recovered. "Since yesterday," muttered Raskolnikov in reply.
Everything was just as everybody always has it, especially so the general, who admired the apartment, patted Berg on the shoulder, and with parental authority superintended the setting out of the table for boston. The general sat down by Count Ilya Rostov, who was next to himself the most important guest.
The converted Jew, Ilya Markovitch, whom the peasants here idolize so I was told gave me horses to drive to Tomsk. The "president," the secretary and I got into the same conveyance. All the way the "president" told lies, drank out of the bottle, boasted that he did not take bribes, raved about the scenery, and shook his fist at the tramps that he met. We drove fifteen versts, then halt!
But you said a lot about a bulldog, and about ear-rings and chains, and about Krestovsky Island, and some porter, and Nikodim Fomitch and Ilya Petrovitch, the assistant superintendent. And another thing that was of special interest to you was your own sock.
Word Of The Day