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Updated: June 6, 2025
He caught up with Liubka and softly touched her sleeve. She turned around and beheld Soloviev. Her face instantaneously turned pale, her eyes opened wide and her lips began to tremble. "Go away!" she said quietly, with infinite hatred. "Liuba ... Liubochka ..." Soloviev began to mumble.
You've begun something big and splendid, Lichonin. The prince told me about it during the night. Well, what of it, that's what youth is for to commit sacred follies. Give me the bottle, Alexandra, I'll open it myself, or else you'll rupture yourself and burst a vein. To a new life, Liubochka, pardon me ... Liubov ... Liubov ..." "Nikonovna. But call me just as it comes ... Liuba."
"Let Liuba tell the housekeeper that you're taking her to your rooms for to-day. That's the fixed rate ten roubles. And afterwards, well, even to-morrow come after the ticket and things. That's nothing; we'll work this thing roundly.
"No, a polka! ... A waltz! ... A vengerka! ... A waltz!" demanded others. "Let them play a polka," decided Liuba in a capricious tone. "Isaiah Savvich, play a little polka, please. This is my husband, and he is ordering fox me," she added, embracing the pedagogue by the neck. "Isn't that true, daddy?"
His face began to glisten and the pimples on his forehead became red. He was mentally appraising all the women, choosing a likely one for himself, and was at the same time embarrassed by his silence. There was nothing at all to talk about; besides that the indifferent importunity of Liuba irritated him.
Liuba, in a blue velvet blouse with low cut bosom, and Niura, dressed as a "baby," in a pink, wide sacque to the knees, with her bright hair loose and with little curls on her forehead, are lying embraced on the window-sill, and are singing in a low voice a song about the hospital, which song is the rage of the day and exceedingly well known among prostitutes.
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