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Updated: June 1, 2025
The time was flying rapidly in leaps and bounds, and it seemed as though the bells, whistles, and stoppings would never end. In despair Klimov buried his face in the corner of the seat, clutched his head in his hands, and began again thinking of his sister Katya and his orderly Pavel, but his sister and his orderly were mixed up with the misty images in his brain, whirled round, and disappeared.
Once in broad daylight Klimov saw his regimental priest, Father Alexander, in his stole and with the host in his hands, standing by the bedside and muttering something with such a serious expression as Klimov had never seen him wear before.
Looking at her grey head and understanding nothing, Klimov was frightened for Katya, and asked: "Where is she, aunt?" The old woman, who had forgotten Klimov and was thinking only of her sorrow, said: "She caught typhus from you, and is dead. She was buried the day before yesterday."
A good-looking lady was conversing loudly with a military man in a red cap, and showing magnificent white teeth as she smiled; and the smile, and the teeth, and the lady herself made on Klimov the same revolting impression as the ham and the rissoles.
"Please, do be so good . . . take your words back . . ." said Klimov in extreme embarrassment. "I beg you to do so!" "If . . . er-er-er . . . it offends you, certainly," answered the actor, with an undefined movement of his hand. "And confess you have told a falsehood."
I am not well. I have a cold." The Finn knocked out his pipe against the window-frame and began to talk of his brother, the sailor. Klimov paid no more attention to him and thought in agony of his soft, comfortable bed, of the bottle of cold water, of his sister Katy, who knew so well how to tuck him up and cosset him.
Klimov also began to laugh, and when the doctor had gone, he fell sound asleep. He woke up with the same feeling of joy and happiness. His aunt was sitting by his bed. "Oh, aunty!" He was very happy. "What has been the matter with me?" "Typhus." "I say! And now I am well, quite well! Where is Katy?" "She is not at home. She has probably gone to see some one after her examination."
The man asked him for a rouble and a quarter to drive to Povarsky Street, but he did not haggle, and without protest got submissively into the sledge. He still understood the difference of numbers, but money had ceased to have any value to him. At home Klimov was met by his aunt and his sister Katya, a girl of eighteen.
"I, no . . . er-er-er. . . . It was not a lie, but I greatly regret having spoken too freely. . . . And, in fact . . . I don't understand your tone!" Klimov walked up and down the room in silence, as though in uncertainty and hesitation. His fleshy face grew more and more crimson, and the veins in his neck swelled up.
Klimov no longer heard him; he was thinking miserably of his soft, comfortable bed, of a bottle of cold water, of his sister Katya, who was so good at making one comfortable, soothing, giving one water. He even smiled when the vision of his orderly Pavel, taking off his heavy stifling boots and putting water on the little table, flitted through his imagination.
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