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Updated: June 23, 2025
The boy crawled out from under the table and wiped his knees and elbows. Julian Mastakovich hastened to carry his handkerchief, which he had been dangling by the corner, to his nose. Our host looked at the three of us rather suspiciously.
Here I must remark that Julian Mastakovich was a somewhat corpulent man, heavy, well-fed, puffy-cheeked, with a paunch and ankles as round as nuts. He perspired and puffed and panted. I laughed heartily. Julian Mastakovich turned. He was utterly confused and for a moment, apparently, quite oblivious of his immense importance. At that moment our host appeared in the doorway opposite.
There are no vacancies, and there is a waiting list of ten who have a greater right I'm sorry." "Too bad," said our host. "He's a quiet, unobtrusive child." "A very naughty little rascal, I should say," said Julian Mastakovich, wryly. "Go away, boy. Why are you here still? Be off with you to the other children." Unable to control himself, he gave me a sidelong glance. Nor could I control myself.
"And do you know why they gave you the doll?" asked Julian Mastakovich, dropping his voice lower and lower. "No." "Because you were a good, very good little girl the whole week." Saying which, Julian Mastakovich was seized with a paroxysm of agitation.
"He's my governess's son," our host continued in a beseeching tone. "She's a poor creature, the widow of an honest official. That's why, if it were possible for you " "Impossible, impossible!" Julian Mastakovich cried hastily. "You must excuse me, Philip Alexeyevich, I really cannot. I've made inquiries.
His whiskers were really fine, but he stroked them so assiduously that one got the feeling that the whiskers had come into the world first and afterwards the man in order to stroke them. There was another guest who interested me. But he was of quite a different order. He was a personage. They called him Julian Mastakovich.
Then the guests scattered decorously to different parts of the room, and I heard them, with veneration in their tones, extol the business man, the business man's wife, the business man's daughter, and, especially, Julian Mastakovich. "Is he married?" I asked out loud of an acquaintance of mine standing beside Julian Mastakovich. Julian Mastakovich gave me a venomous look.
Go back to the other room, to your playmates." "I don't want him to. I don't want him to! You go away!" cried the girl. "Let him alone! Let him alone!" She was almost weeping. There was a sound of footsteps in the doorway. Julian Mastakovich started and straightened up his respectable body. The red-haired boy was even more alarmed.
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