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The unseemly word dropped from his lips again, but he did not notice it: what is firmly imbedded in the consciousness cannot be driven out by Father Grigory's exhortations or even knocked out by a nail. Makaryevna sighed and whispered something, drawing in a deep breath, while one-armed Mitka was brooding over something....
"Yes, you are lucky," said the first boy enviously. "You will get a little golden wreath, but what will happen to me?" "I will entreat the angels, the archangels, the cherubim and the seraphim for you give me but your full name and address." "My sin is quite a big one, and my name is Mitka Sosipatrov, from Nizhniya Kolotilovka." "Don't be afraid," said the birched boy.
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