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Updated: May 20, 2025
And then, when I seemed to him altogether like a dead woman, he'd throw himself upon me." Little White Manka suddenly exclaimed: "It's the truth you're telling, Jennka! I had a certain old bugger, too. He made me pretend all the time that I was an innocent girl, so's I'd cry and scream. But, Jennechka, though you're the smartest one of us, yet I'll bet you won't guess who he was ..."
Jennie suddenly cries out. "I can't look at you without disgust. You're a bitch! In your place, if I was such a miserable thing, I'd rather lay hands on myself, strangle myself with a cord from my corset. You vermin!" Tony the Potato. Trans. Pasha silently lowers her eyelashes over her tear-filled eyes. Manya tries to defend her. "Really, what are you carrying on like that for, Jennechka?
All-Knowing can it be that Thou wouldst repulse her the pitiful rebel, the involuntary libertine; a child that had uttered blasphemies against Thy radiant, holy name? Thou Benevolence, Thou our Consolation! A dull, restrained wailing, suddenly passing into a scream, resounded in the chapel. "Oh, Jennechka!"
Hereditary princes marry the street-walkers, the kept mistresses of yesterday... Jennechka, there is the scope for your unbridled vengeance; while I will admire you from a distance... For you you are made of this stuff you are a bird of prey, a spoliator... Perhaps not with such a broad sweep but you will cast them down under your feet." "No," faintly smiled Jennka.
"Drop the silly stuff, Jennechka. I came about the passport." "So-o. About the passport," Jennka went into thought. "That is, there's no passport here, but you must take a blank from the housekeeper. You understand, our usual prostitute's blank; and then they'll exchange it for you for a real book at the station house. Only you see, my dear, I will be but ill help to you in this business.
She made ill whole hundreds, perhaps even thousands...And when she was dying in a hospital, she recalled this with joy and with pride... But then, those were enemies, trampling upon her fatherland and slaughtering her brothers...But you, you, Jennechka! ..." This story is Lit. No. 29, by Guy de Maupassant. Trans. "But I all, just all!
"Not to set you up, Liuba ... I simply want to help you ... For it isn't very sweet for you in a brothel, is it now!" "Naturally, it isn't all sugar! If I was as proud as Jennechka, or so enticing like Pasha ... but I won't get used to things here for anything ..." "Well, then, let's go, let's go! ..." entreated Lichonin.
'Let's better drink some cognac, Jennechka," she addressed herself, "'and let's suck the lemon a little! ... Brr ... what nasty stuff! ... And where does Annushka always get such abominable stuff? If you smear a dog's wool with it, it will fall off ... And always, the low-down thing, she'll take an extra half.
Tamara and Gladishev again sat down side by side. "Well, really, how is it that Jennechka isn't coming by now?" asked Kolya impatiently. Tamara quickly gave Verka a look with a question, incomprehensible to the uninitiated, in her eyes. Verka quickly lowered her eyelashes. This signified: yes, he is gone. "I'll go right away and call her," said Tamara.
"I don't know, Jennechka!" quietly pronounced Platonov. "Not that I fear telling you, or advising you, but I know absolutely nothing. This is above my reason... above conscience..." Jennie crossed her fingers and nervously cracked them. "And I, too, don't know...Therefore, that which I thought is not the truth.
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