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The greedy priest, the grasping priest, what does he do with his money? I feel myself I am greedy, . . . and I blame myself, I condemn myself. . . . I am ashamed to look people in the face. . . . I tell you on my conscience, Pavel Mihailovitch. . . . I call the God of truth to witness. . . ."
Nejdanov could not see his face very clearly, only his moustache stood out in a straight black line, but he had felt ever since the morning that there was something in Markelov that was best left alone, some mysteriously unknown worry. "I say, Sergai Mihailovitch," Nejdanov began, "do you really attach any importance to Mr. Kisliakov's letters that you gave me today?
There is no end to my despair! Save me, Queen of Heaven!" "Calm yourself, Father," said Kunin. "I am worn out with hunger, Pavel Mihailovitch," Father Yakov went on. "Generously forgive me, but I am at the end of my strength . . . . I know if I were to beg and to bow down, everyone would help, but . . . I cannot! I am ashamed. How can I beg of the peasants?
We are to stay the night in Pokrovskaya. We shall make up a party to see the place. If I were a millionaire I should certainly have a steamer of my own on the Amur. It is a fine, interesting country. I advise Yegor Mihailovitch not to go to Tuapse but here; there are here by the way neither tarantulas nor phalangas.
"Yes." "Well, I suppose you can make room for me. I shall have finished my work in about an hour, and will be quite free. We can talk things over thoroughly. You are also free, are you not?" he asked, turning to Nejdanov. "Until the day after tomorrow." "That's all right. We can stay the night at your place, Sergai Mihailovitch, I suppose? "Of course you may!" "Good. I shall be ready in a minute.
I dare say it's easy for me to talk like that. I am ugly, while you are beautiful. It must be so much harder for you." It will upset everything there. Leave them alone! They are both happy... Don't interfere with them! I should be glad not to interfere, but what shall I do about the letter?" "Give it to him by all means," Mariana put in. "How awfully good Sergai Mihailovitch is!
Three days after our arrival at Mittövo we had all discovered private hostilities and resentments. I was as bad as any one. I could not endure the revolutionary student, Ivan Mihailovitch. I thought him most uncleanly in his habits, and I was compelled to sleep in the same room with him. Certainly it was true that washing was not one of the most important things in the world to him.
"Yes," Mariana replied, a little surprised. "With Nejdanov?" "Yes." "Please give me your hand... and forgive me. You must be good since he loves you." Mariana pressed Mashurina's hand. "Have you known him long?" "I knew him in St. Petersburg. That was what made me talk to you. Sergai Mihailovitch has also told me " "Oh Markelov! Is it long since you've seen him? "No, not long.
"Generously forgive me, Pavel Mihailovitch . . ." muttered Father Yakov as though he were drunk, "Forgive me, all this . . . doesn't matter, and don't take any notice of it. . . . Only I do blame myself, and always shall blame myself . . . always."
You are on the Board here, so you know. . . . How can one beg of a beggar? And to beg of richer people, of landowners, I cannot! I have pride! I am ashamed!" Father Yakov waved his hand, and nervously scratched his head with both hands. "I am ashamed! My God, I am ashamed! I am proud and can't bear people to see my poverty! When you visited me, Pavel Mihailovitch, I had no tea in the house!
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