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Updated: May 7, 2025
The Deacon tried to get up, but fell and swore loudly. When Tyapa had gone the Captain touched Martyanoff's shoulder and said in low tones: "Well, Martyanoff . . . You must feel it more then the others. You were . . . But let that go to the Devil . . . Don't you pity Philip?"
Am I right, Martyanoff? Let us therefore drink ... whilst we still have life!" The rain began to fall. Thick, close darkness covered the figures that lay scattered over the ground, half drunk, half asleep. The light in the windows of the dosshouse flickered, paled, and suddenly disappeared. Probably the wind blew it out or else the oil was exhausted.
I care now for nothing and nobody . . . and all my life has been tame a sweetheart who has jilted me therefore I despise life, and am indifferent to it." "You lie!" says Abyedok. "I lie?" roars Aristid Kuvalda, almost crimson with anger. "Why shout?" comes in the cold sad voice of Martyanoff. "Why judge others? Merchants, noblemen. . .what have we to do with them?"
Besides that, whenever he fought or quarrelled, he was assisted by Martyanoff, who was accustomed during a general fight to stand silently and sadly back to back with Kuvalda, when he became an all-destroying and impregnable engine of war. Once when Simtsoff was drunk, he rushed at the teacher for no reason whatever, and getting hold of his head tore out a bunch of hair.
After him, Kanets appeared from some corner a dark, sad-looking, silent drunkard: then the former governor of the prison, Luka Antonovitch Martyanoff, a man who existed on "remeshok," "trilistika" and "bankovka," * and many such cunning games, not much appreciated by the police. Well-known games or chance, played by the lower classes. The police specially endeavor to stop them, but unsuccessfully.
Martyanoff, with his strong face, followed him. The courtyard of the merchant Petunikoff emptied quickly. "Now then, go on!" called the driver, striking the horses with the whip. The cart moved off over the rough surface of the courtyard. The teacher was covered with a heap of rags, and his belly projected from beneath them.
The Deacon tried to get up, but fell and swore loudly. When Tyapa had gone the Captain touched Martyanoff's shoulder and said in low tones: "Well, Martyanoff ... You must feel it more than the others. You were ... But let that go to the Devil ... Don't you pity Philip?"
Aristid Fomich asked him very softly. "Have you heard about our teacher?" Martyanoff lazily got up from the ground, looked at the line of light coming out of the dosshouse, shook his head and silently sat down beside the Captain. "Nothing particular... The man is dying ..." remarked the Captain, shortly. "Have they been beating him?" asked Abyedok, with great interest. The Captain gave no answer.
You are of absolutely no use to us ... Do you drink vodki? ... No? ... Well, then, can you steal?" Again, "No." "Go away, learn, and come back again when you know something, and are a man ..." The youngster smiled. "No. I shall live with you." "Why?" "Just because ..." "Oh you ... Meteor!" said the Captain. "I will break his teeth for him," said Martyanoff. "And why?" asked the youngster.
"He was the best among you ... the cleverest, the most respectable... I mourn for him." "Re-s-t with the Saints... Sing, you crooked hunchback!" roared the Deacon, digging his friend in the ribs. "Be quiet!" shouted Abyedok, jumping vengefully to his feet. "I will give him one on the head," proposed Martyanoff, raising his head from the ground. "You are not asleep?"
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