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'There, there, if you please, you hold your tongue, he said quickly, seeming to be searching for Onisim with his eyes; 'I shall really, you know ... I ... what do you mean by it, really? You'd better help me dress.
'Well, and is she coming? Onisim shook his head. 'She coming! You're in too great a hurry, sir. She coming, indeed! No, you go too fast. ... 'But you said yourself that ... 'Oh, well, it's easy to talk. Pyetushkov was silent again. 'Well, but how's it to be, then, my lad? 'How? ... You ought to know best; you 're a gentleman. 'Oh, nonsense! come now!
Pyetushkov began smoking; the pipe wheezed like a broken-winded horse. 'How disgusting! cried Ivan Afanasiitch; 'where's my cherry wood pipe? 'At the baker's shop, Onisim responded tranquilly. Pyetushkov blinked spasmodically. 'Well, you wish me to go for it? 'No, you needn't; don't go ... no need, don't go, do you hear? 'Yes, sir. The night passed somehow.
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