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Updated: May 24, 2025
Then dark and contradicting feelings sprang up within him: he felt like insulting the architect, and at the same time he envied and respected him. Medinskaya now seemed to him less beautiful and more accessible; he began to feel sorry for her, and yet he thought malignantly: "She must surely feel disgusted when he kisses her."
At this recollection he shook his head, as though he wanted to frighten away the thought of Medinskaya, and quickened his steps. Night was coming on, and the air was fresh. A cold, invigorating wind was violently raging in the street, driving the dust along the sidewalks and throwing it into the faces of the passers-by. It was dark, and people were hastily striding along in the darkness.
And Medinskaya's velvet-like, warm little hand glided once more over Foma's hand. The dinner was to Foma a real torture. For the first time in his life among these uniformed people, he saw that they were eating and speaking doing everything better than he, and he felt that between him and Medinskaya, who was seated just opposite him, was a high mountain, not a table.
This face with the toothless mouth and the malicious smile, rousing in Foma hatred and fear, augmented in him the consciousness of solitude. Then he recalled the kind eyes of Medinskaya and her small, graceful figure; and beside her arose the tall, robust, and rosy-cheeked Lubov Mayakina with smiling eyes and with a big light golden-coloured braid.
But it is already melting considerably. There is water on the roads everywhere." He looked at her and smiled. Evidently Medinskaya noticed the ease of his behaviour and something new in his smile, for she adjusted her dress and drew farther away from him. Their eyes met and Medinskaya lowered her head. "Melting!" said she, thoughtfully, examining the ring on her little finger.
Foma again turned back, and his eyes met the eyes of Medinskaya. He heaved a deep sigh at her caressing glance, and felt relieved at once, as if a warm ray of light penetrated his soul and something melted there. And then and there he considered that it was unbecoming him to turn his head from side to side.
Now the woman lowered the mandolin on her knees and began running her fingers over the strings, also to examine fixedly something before her. Foma heaved a sigh. A soft sound of music soared about Medinskaya, and her face was forever changing as though shadows were falling on it, falling and melting away under the flash of her eyes.
When she went past Foma noiselessly, the scent of perfume came to him, and he noticed that her eyes were dark blue, and her eyebrows almost black. "The sly rogue glided away," said Mayakin in a low voice, angrily looking after her. "Well, tell us how was the trip? Have you squandered much money?" roared Ignat, pushing his son into the same armchair where Medinskaya had been sitting awhile before.
I cannot speak!" said Foma, sadly, all aflush with confusion. "I am not cultured." "You need not trouble yourself on this account," said Medinskaya, patronisingly. "You are so young, and education is accessible to everybody. But there are people to whom education is not only unnecessary, but who can also be harmed by it.
It seemed to Foma that there was a cold breath behind him, and that something huge, invisible, and terrible was overtaking him. Frightened, he almost ran to meet the cab, which appeared noisily from the darkness, and when he seated himself in the cab, he dared not look back, though he wished to do so. ABOUT a week passed since Foma spoke to Medinskaya.
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