Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 20, 2025
But you've lost your bet, gentlemen; pay up. The second legend of Misha is of this nature. So one day he began urgently begging one of his comrades among the officers to play with him!
Misha picked up thin, flat stones and threw them underhand into the distance so that, touching the water, they skipped repeatedly on the surface. He did this habitually whenever the wrangling distressed him. His hands trembled, the little stones ricochetted badly sometimes; this annoyed him, but he tried to hide his annoyance and to look cheerful.
“To Plotnikov’s shop—first-rate!” cried Mitya, as though struck by an idea. “Misha,” he turned to the boy as he came in, “look here, run to Plotnikov’s and tell them that Dmitri Fyodorovitch sends his greetings, and will be there directly.... But listen, listen, tell them to have champagne, three dozen bottles, ready before I come, and packed as it was to take to Mokroe.
"Old habit," replied Mísha, and suddenly burst out laughing, but immediately caught himself up, and making a straight, low, monastic obeisance, he added: "Will not you contribute something for the journey? For I am going to the monastery on foot...." "When?" "To-day ... at once." "Why art thou in such a hurry?" "Uncle! my motto has always been 'Hurry! Hurry!" "But what is thy motto now?"
As soon as we reached the river the boat came into sight a long boat: I have never dreamed of a boat so long. While the post was being loaded on to the boat I witnessed a strange phenomenon there was a peal of thunder, a queer thing in a cold wind, with snow on the ground. They loaded up and rowed off. My sweet Misha, forgive me for being so rejoiced that I did not bring you with me!
Misha answered, not at once: "Yes. I keep dreaming." "What do you dream?" "All sorts of things. . . ." The doctor, who did not know how to talk with weeping women or with children, stroked his burning head, and muttered: "Never mind, poor boy, never mind. . . . One can't go through life without illness. . . . Misha, who am I do you know me?" Misha did not answer. "Does your head ache very badly?"
Mísha looked long and in silence at the old man. "Timoféi!" he said at last. Timoféi gave a start. "What do you wish?" "Hast thou a spade?" "I can get one.... But what do you want with a spade, Mikhaílo Andréitch?" "I want to dig a grave for myself here, Timoféi; and lie down here forever between my parents. For this is the only spot which is left to me in the world. Fetch the spade!"
She first went up to Missy, only nodding to her brother; but, having kissed her, at once turned to him. "At last I have found you," she said. Nekhludoff rose to greet Missy, Misha, and Osten, and to say a few words to them. Missy told him about their house in the country having been burnt down, which necessitated their moving to her aunt's. Osten began relating a funny story about a fire.
Rakitin could hardly restrain himself in his heat, but, suddenly, as though remembering something, he stopped short. “Well, that’s enough,” he said, with a still more crooked smile. “Why are you laughing? Do you think I’m a vulgar fool?” “No, I never dreamed of thinking you a vulgar fool. You are clever but ... never mind, I was silly to smile. I understand your getting hot about it, Misha.
Just this sort of exemplary youth did Mísha remain until the age of eighteen, until the death of his parents, whom he lost on almost one and the same day. As I resided constantly in Moscow, I heard nothing about my young relative. Some one who came to town from his government did, it is true, inform me that Mísha had sold his ancestral estate for a song; but this bit of news seemed to me altogether too incredible! And lo! suddenly, one autumn morning, into the courtyard of my house dashes a calash drawn by a pair of splendid trotters, with a monstrous coachman on the box; and in the calash, wrapped in a cloak of military cut with a two-arshín beaver collar, and a fatigue-cap over one ear
Word Of The Day
Others Looking