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Updated: June 17, 2025
And she waited in silence for Varvara to say something herself. "Olya, we are going indoors," Pyotr Dmitritch called from the raspberries. Olga Mihalovna liked being silent, waiting and watching Varvara. She would have been ready to stay like that till night without speaking or having any duty to perform. But she had to go.
But even in the time of Peter the Great this name had sunk into the gutter and had left in this town a street Golovkinskaya, and in that same Golovkinskaya Street a house, by the letting of which Olya's aunt made her living. Agrenev knew that the aunt whose name he had never heard was an old maid, and that she had one joy Olya.
"It's a pretty album," said Zhmyhov's daughter Olya, "it must have cost fifty roubles, I do believe. Oh, it's charming! You must give me the album, papa, do you hear? I'll take care of it, it's so pretty." After dinner Olya carried off the album to her room and shut it up in her table drawer.
"Go out of the room," said Pyotr Dmitritch sternly, going up to the bed. "Understand . . . understand! . . ." Olga Mihalovna began. "Olya, I entreat you, calm yourself," he said. "I did not mean to hurt you. I would not have gone out of the room if I had known it would have hurt you so much; I simply felt depressed. I tell you, on my honour . . ."
Olya was a very charming girl, of whom it was difficult to say anything definite: such a pretty provincial maid, like a slender willow-reed.
That night, when he reached home at last, his daughter came in and made him a curtsey, saying: "Goodnight, daddy." Alexander Alexandrovitch caught her in his arms, placed her on his knees his beloved, his only little daughter. "Well, little Asya, what have you been doing?" he asked. "When you went out to Olya Golovkina Mummy and I played tig."
Yes, it was certainly interesting how Nina Kallistratovna had entered that flat, swung back her hand which hand had it been? was it the one in which she held the attache-case or was that transferred to the other hand first? and delivered the smack to Madame Chasovnikova. Then there was Olya, darling Olya Golovkina, from whom as from them all he desired nothing.
And expecting her to say something else awful, he leaned back in his chair, and his huge figure seemed as helplessly childish as his smile. "Olya, how could you say it?" he whispered. Olga Mihalovna came to herself.
And now the children, with bated breath, with a mournful look on their faces, gazed at Nikolay and thought that he was soon to die; and they wanted to cry and to say something friendly and compassionate to him. He pressed close to Olga, as though seeking protection, and said to her softly in a quavering voice: "Olya darling, I can't stay here longer. It's more than I can bear.
Then Agrenev dismissed her from his mind; and, as he bicycled from Golovkinskaya Street through the whole length of the town, past the factory to the engineers' quarters there was no need to hide now it was dark he thought only of Olya's aunt: of how she was an old maid with nothing else in her life but her niece, and that Olya was hiding her tragedy from her; of how she spent the entire evenings sitting alone by the window in the dark assuredly not on Olya's account, but because she was dying; all her life she had been dying, as the town was dying where Kozlov was read; as he, Agrenev, was dying; as the maidenhood of Olya had died.
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