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Updated: June 10, 2025
"Father-prelates," he began to murmur in astonishment, trying to continue the unsuccessful jest. "Why, but this is ... This is ... ah, the devil ... this is Sonya, no, my mistake, Nadya ... Well, yes! Liubka from Anna Markovna's ..." Liubka blushed hotly, to the verge of tears, and covered her face with her palms.
This was a letter from Jennka, written in a round, naive, rolling, childish handwriting, and not very well spelt. "Sergei Ivanich. Forgive me that I disturbe you. I must talk over a very, very important matter with you. I would not be troubling you if it was Trifles. For only 10 minutes in all. Jennka, whom you know, from Anna Markovna's." Platonov got up.
Tatiana Markovna's kingdom was perishing. Her house was left desolate; her dearest treasure, her pride, her pearl, had been taken from her, and she wandered lonely among the ruins. When she paused in her walk in order to collect her strength, she tottered and would have fallen but for an inner whisper which assured her she would yet reach her goal.
Vikentev himself had been in his dress coat and white gloves from eight o'clock onwards. Tatiana Markovna's pride and joy knew no bounds when Marfinka appeared, radiating gaiety from her bright eyes. While she slept the walls of her two rooms had been decorated with flowers and garlands.
"The whole note is certainly not from her hand; she could not have written like this." He threw himself on the divan in a fit of nervous laughter. He was in Tatiana Markovna's sitting-room, with Vikentev and Marfinka. At first the lovers laughed, but stopped when they saw the violent character of his mirth.
He threw himself on the ground to regain his breath, then in order not to betray his presence crept along, digging his nails into the ground as he went. When he reached the suicide's grave he halted, uncertain which way to follow, and at length made for the arbour, listening and searching the ground as he went. Meanwhile everything was going on as usual in Tatiana Markovna's household.
They say you find fault with everybody," he went on, heedless of Tatiana Markovna's efforts to interrupt. "My Grandmother tells me that you lectured one man for not having attended Mass." Tatiana Markovna went hot all over, and taking off her cap, put it down behind her. "I am glad she told you that. I like to have my doings correctly reported. Yes, I do lecture people sometimes.
Vera was conscious now how deeply she had wounded another life so close to her own, as she saw the tragic figure of her aunt, so happy until recently and now bearing the punishment of another's sin. Raisky brought her Tatiana Markovna's blessing, and Vera fell on his neck and wept for a long time.
This was written of in letters, and transmitted verbally, by those village neighbours who had seen her both on the street and at Anna Markovna's place itself porters and bell-hops of hotels, waiters at small restaurants, cabbies, small contractors. She knew what odour this fame would give off if she were to return to her native haunts. It were better to hang one's self than to endure this.
She was paler than before, her eyes were less sparkling, and she had lost some of her vivacity of gesture; but these changes were put down by everyone to her narrow escape from nervous fever. In fulfilment of Tatiana Markovna's insistently expressed wish, Vera had spoken to Raisky of their aunt's passion, of which Tiet Nikonich had been the object, but she said nothing of the sin.
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