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Markovitch was proud of having been able to secure it. He was beaming with pride. He explained to everybody how it had been done. He walked round the table and stood, for an instant, with his hand on Vera Michailovna's shoulder. The pies with fish and cabbage in them were handed round. He jested with the old great-aunt. He shouted in her ear: "Now, Aunt Isabella... some wine.
He looked out from the darkness behind him like an old prehistoric man. His shed was peaked like a cocked hat, an old fat woman sat beside him knitting and drinking a glass of tea.... "I'm sorry, Vera Michailovna, that you can't read English...." Bohun's careful voice was explaining, "Only Wells and Locke and Jack London...." I heard Vera Michailovna's voice.
He was placed on Vera Michailovna's left hand, Rozanov, the Moscow merchant near to him, and I did not hear him say anything very bright or illuminating, but every one felt, I think, that he was a cheerful and dependable person. I always felt, when I observed him, that he understood the Russian character far better than any of us.
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