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Updated: June 5, 2025
"I have drank only two glasses. I was perfectly sober." "Consequently," said Bobrov, "you are right, Yakov Tarasovich, he is insane." "I?" exclaimed Foma. But they paid no attention to him. Reznikov, Zubov and Bobrov leaned over to Mayakin and began to talk in low tones. "Guardianship!" Foma's ears caught this one word.
"So be it; the firm of Smolin and Mayakin, and that's all? So. Only it seems rather late for me to start a new business, doesn't it? I presume the grave has long been prepared for me; what do you think of it?" Instead of an answer Smolin burst into a rich, but indifferent and cold laughter, and then said: "Oh, don't say that."
Go on!" "I served under him for two years. And then I married his daughter," narrated Mayakin in a hoarse voice. "The superintendent's? That wasn't foolish at all." Taras became thoughtful and was silent awhile. The old man looked at his sad face and understood his son. "And so you lived with your wife happily," he said. "Well, what can you do?
The chambermaid appeared and said to him with alarm: "Ignat Matveyich, Natalya Fominichna is calling you. She is feeling bad." "Why bad? It'll pass!" he roared, his eyes flashing cheerfully. "Tell her I'll be there immediately! Tell her she's a fine fellow! I'll just get a present for her and I'll come! Hold on! Prepare something to eat for the priest. Send somebody after Mayakin!"
The excitement of the merchants was growing more and more intense; all faces were radiant with triumph; hands holding out goblets were outstretched toward Mayakin; the merchants clapped him on the shoulder, jostled him, kissed him, gazed with emotion into his face. And some screamed ecstatically: "The kamarinsky. The national dance!"
Foma tried to think what he would say in such a case, and confused, he began to laugh, finding no appropriate words. Then he recalled Luba Mayakin. She would surely be first to say something, uttering some unintelligible words, which were foreign to herself. Somehow it seemed to him that all her words were foreign, and she did not speak as was proper for a girl of her age, appearance and descent.
That's what all these different houses are for, for the concealment of the truth, for the banishment of Christ from our life! Is this clear to you?" "Yes!" said Foma, confused by the old man's clever words. "And this is not all. The pool is not yet baled out to the bottom!" exclaimed Mayakin, swinging his hand in the air with animation.
You had better go and prepare something for us tea and so forth. We'll entertain the prodigal son. You must have forgotten, my little old man, what sort of a man your father is?" Taras Mayakin scrutinized his parent with a meditative look of his large eyes and he smiled, speechless, clad in black, wherefore the gray hair on his head and in his beard told more strikingly. "Well, be seated.
But now Mayakin seized him by the hand and drew him up to himself. "There, your Excellency, this is my godson, Foma, the late Ignat's only son." "Ah!" said the governor in his basso, "I'm very pleased.
FOMA'S dual relation toward Mayakin grew stronger and stronger as time went on; listening to his words attentively and with eager curiosity, he felt that each meeting with his godfather was strengthening in him the feeling of hostility toward the old man. Sometimes Yakov Tarasovich roused in his godson a feeling akin to fear, sometimes even physical aversion.
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