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Updated: June 7, 2025
The pavement seemed to scorch the feet, and Nekhludoff felt a burning sensation in his hand when he touched the lacquered splashguard of his trap. The horse was jogging along at a weary trot, beating the uneven, dusty road monotonously with its hoofs, the isvostchik kept falling into a doze, Nekhludoff sat without thinking of anything.
The isvostchik, who formerly had a reputation for drunkenness, which travellers of the present day continue to ascribe to him, appears to prefer tea to every other drink. Such, at least, was my experience; and his mode of asking for a pour boire seems to confirm it.
He remembered the Korchagin's dinner and looked at his watch. It was not yet too late to get there in time. He heard the ring of a passing tramcar, ran to catch it, and jumped on. He jumped off again when they got to the market-place, took a good isvostchik, and ten minutes later was at the entrance of the Korchagins' big house.
It was late in October and the first snow had fallen, and round the station were a crowd of sledges drawn by rough little horses. Avoiding the importunities of the drivers of the hotel vehicles he hailed an Isvostchik in furred cap and coat lined with sheepskin.
The Englishman had a trap of his own, and Nekhludoff, having told the coachman to drive to the prison, called his isvostchik and got in with the heavy sense of having to fulfil an unpleasant duty, and followed the Englishman over the soft snow, through which the wheels turned with difficulty.
Nekhludoff asked his isvostchik, feeling an insurmountable desire for some refreshment. "There is a good eating-house close by," the isvostchik answered, and turning a corner, drove up to a door with a large signboard. Nekhludoff asked for a bottle of seltzer water and sat down some way from the window at a small table covered with a dirty cloth.
He seemed to be trying to remember something, and Nekhludoff noticed the same dull expression as that of the man with the raised brows and pouting lips whom he had seen at the window of the eating-house. "How cold it is! Is it not? Have you got the parcels?" said Schonbock, turning to the isvostchik. "All right. Good-bye.
The police officer looked around, and noticing the pancake-shaped hat of the convict lifted it up and put it on the wet, drooping head. "Go on," he ordered. The isvostchik looked angrily round, shook his head, and, accompanied by the convoy soldier, drove back to the police station.
The policeman said that, as a gang of prisoners was passing, one of the convicts had fallen down, and the convoy officer had ordered him to be left behind. "Well, that's all right. He must be taken to the police station. Call an isvostchik." "A porter has gone for one," said the policeman, with his fingers raised to his cap. The shopman began something about the heat. "Is it your business, eh?
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