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Updated: May 31, 2025
"He's got round her," Nastasya murmured, smiling slyly. "Why don't you put the sugar in your tea, Nastasya Nikiforovna?" "You are a one!" Nastasya cried suddenly, going off into a giggle. "I am not Nikiforovna, but Petrovna," she added suddenly, recovering from her mirth. "I'll make a note of it.
Her aunt would come to Vera and say: "You should sit a little with the visitors, or else they'll think that you are stuck up." Vera would go in to the visitors and play vint with them for hours together, or play the piano for the visitors to dance; her aunt, in high spirits and breathless from dancing, would come up and whisper to her: "Be nice to Marya Nikiforovna." On the sixth of December, St.
Elena Nikiforovna, who presided, kept blinking in a queer way, first with one eye and then with the other. She talked, she ate, but yet there was something deathly about her whole figure, and one almost fancied the faint smell of a corpse.
Then Anisim had lunch and drank tea with the old man, and Varvara turned the new coins over in her hand and inquired about villagers who had gone to live in the town. "They are all right, thank God, they get on quite well," said Anisim. "Only something has happened to Ivan Yegorov: his old wife Sofya Nikiforovna is dead. From consumption.
Elena Nikiforovna had taken to quarrelling with the neighbours, to going to law, and to not paying her bailiffs or her labourers; she was in constant terror of being robbed, and in some ten years Dubetchnya had become unrecognizable. Behind the great house was an old garden which had already run wild, and was overgrown with rough weeds and bushes.
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