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Updated: May 18, 2025
Trirodov turned to Kirsha: "Don't be afraid, Kirsha these are dead words." Kirsha silently nodded his head. A mistress and her servant-maid walked together and exchanged quarrelsome words. "God didn't make all the trees in the forest alike. I am a white bone, you are a black bone. I am a gentlewoman, you are a peasant-woman." "You may be a gentlewoman, yet trash."
The night hovered all around them, and the forgotten Navii footpath stretched in a black strip through the darkness. Kirsha shivered he felt the cold, heavy earth under his bare feet; the cold air pressed against his bare knees, the cold moist freshness of the night blew against his half-bared breast. He heard his father ask in a low voice: "Kirsha, are you not afraid?"
They did not sleep long, and when both awakened quite suddenly, everything that had just happened seemed like a dream. They made haste. "We must hurry home," said Elena in an anxious voice. They ran quickly. The door of the underground passage was open. Just outside the door, in the road, stood a cart. Kirsha sat in it and held the reins. The sisters seated themselves. Elisaveta took the reins.
He was blindly conscious of being in the presence of a stranger and an enemy and he wished to destroy him. Kirsha trembled and grew pale. He clung to his father in fear. The quiet boy, retaining his tranquil sadness, stood at their side, like an angel on guard. The muzhik touched the enchanted line. Pain and terror transpierced him.
"When will he come?" asked Kirsha again. Trirodov said with a smile: "Rouse Grisha and ask him whether the sleeper has yet begun to wake in his grave." Kirsha walked away. Trirodov looked in silence at the distant cemetery, where the dark, bereaved night stooped sadly over the crosses. "And where are you, my happy beloved?"
Or is that fool Guyau right when he speaks of the irreligiousness of future generations?" "There will be a synthesis," replied Trirodov. "You will accept it for the devil." "This contradictory mixture is worse than forty devils!" exclaimed Piotr. The visitors soon left. Kirsha came without being called confused and agitated by an indefinable something.
Their faces wore their habitually pleasant smiles and their hands did not tremble. Trirodov gave the reins to Kirsha, who drove away. The meeting proved an embarrassing one. The sisters' agitation was evident in their polite, empty phrases. They entered the drawing-room. Presently Rameyev, accompanied by the Matov brothers, came in to welcome the guest.
Kirsha turned to his father and, growing pale, said quietly: "Father, a visitor has come to you from quite afar. How strange that he has come in a simple carriage and in ordinary clothes! I wonder why he has come?" They could hear the crunching sound of the sand under the iron hoops of the wheels of the calash which had just entered the gates. Kirsha's face wore a gloomy expression.
"They ought not to go with us unless we call them." "Shall we call them?" asked Kirsha joyously. "We shall call one. Which one would you like?" Kirsha, after some thought, said: "Grisha." "Very well, we'll call Grisha," said Trirodov. He turned in the direction of the swings, and called out: "Grisha!"
Kirsha said: "There are two young women in the wood. Such an inquisitive pair. They have been looking over our colony. Now they'd like to come here to take a look round." Trirodov let the pale green ribbon with a lightly stamped pattern fall upon the page he was reading and laid the book on the small table at his side.
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