Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 23, 2025
Ivanov had come home earlier, at eleven o'clock, and sat by his study window alone, listening to the gentle sounds of night and the ceaseless hootings of the owls in the park. Lydia Constantinovna did not come to him, nor did he go in to her. It was in the daytime that Ivanov first saw the artist. Mintz was sitting in the park on a dried turf-bench, and gazing intently at the river.
Without a single word he passed through the room and went into his study. Mintz watched him in severe silence, then followed him. Inside he leaned against the door-post with a wry smile: "You are shunning me all this time. Why?" "You imagine it," returned Ivanov. He lighted a candle on his desk, took off his coat, changed his boots and clothes, hung up his rifle. "That is ridiculous!"
Lydia Constantinovna sat in the corner of the sofa, covered her shoulders with a plaid shawl, and crossed her legs in the Turkish fashion. "What a smell of chipre there is, Mintz," she murmured in a low voice. "I think I must be tipsy. Yes, I must be. When I drink a great deal I always begin to think there are too many perfumes about.
She drank a great deal of brandy in slow sips, and as she pressed her beautiful lips to the glass she vilified everybody and everything Ivanov, the Revolution, Moscow, the Crimea, Marin-Brod, Mintz, and herself. Then she became silent, her eyes grew dull, she began to speak quietly and sadly, with a foolish helpless smile.
They suffocate me, I get their taste in my mouth, they sing in my ears and I feel ill.... What a smell of chipre ... it is my favourite perfume: do you smell it?" She looked at Mintz with a half dazed stare, then continued: "In an hour's time I shall be having hysterics. It is always the way when I drink too much. I don't feel cheerful any longer, I feel melancholy now, Mintz.
One may work here, one may even ... marry ... You have never painted, have you?" "No." Mintz was silent, then suddenly said in a low tone: "Look here! We have some brandy. Shall we have a drink?" "No, thank you. I want to sleep. Good night." "I want to talk!" Ivanov extinguished the candle, through custom finding his bread and milk in the dark, and hastily consumed it without sitting down.
I cite this, gentlemen, merely as evidence that the disparity between the dollar and the doughnut isn't as great as some suppose." The third member of the committee, who had thus far spoken no word, peered curiously at Hal from above a hooked nose. He was Mintz, of Sheffler and Mintz. "Do I get you righd?" he observed mildly; "you're telling us to go where the selectmen sent Misder Babson."
I see, too, that we have been drinking because we feel lonely and dull yes, even though we have been joking and laughing boisterously; I see that there is now the great joy and beauty of spring outside so different from the distorted images visible to warped minds and clouded eyes; I see, moreover, that the Revolution has passed us by after throwing us aside, even though the New Economic Policy may put on us our feet again for a while, and that ... that ..." Mintz did not finish, but turned round abruptly and strode away with an air of self-assertion, into the remote end of the room, where the debris was littered.
All through the years of the Revolution Lydia Constantinovna had lived in the Crimea, coming to Marin-Brod for a fortnight the previous summer, afterwards leaving for Moscow. Now she had returned for the Easter holidays, but not alone the artist Mintz accompanied her. Ivanov had never heard of him before.
I feel now as though ... as though I have wept on this sofa all through the night ... Oh, how happy we used to be once upon a time," she sighed tearfully, then added with a giggle. "Why I hardly know what I am saying!" Mintz was walking up and down the room, measuring his steps extremely carefully.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking