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Updated: May 2, 2025
The colony established by Trirodov had for some time been a source of great annoyance and scandal to the townsfolk. Complaints had been lodged with the authorities even earlier. Ostrov communicated considerable information, mostly invented by himself or by the alert townsmen. The head of the schools sent an order to the Headmaster of the National Schools to make an investigation.
These people need phone and a guard the same as at Verkne Palenga. Find that people here view the villages of Ostrov and Kuzomen with distrust. Kulikoff, a prominent leader in the Bolo Northern army, hails from one of these villages. Spent an hour with the village schoolmaster. Had a big audience of men and boys. Sgt. Young and interpreter came through from Pinega to untangle the sleigh situation.
"I owe you nothing," said Trirodov quietly. "I don't understand why I should give you money. You'd only spend it recklessly squander it most likely." "And do you spend it any more sensibly?" asked Ostrov with a malicious smile. "If not more sensibly, at least with more reckoning," retorted Trirodov. "In any case, I'm prepared to help you.
Only I may as well tell you that I have little spare cash and that even if I had it I'd not give you much." Ostrov gave a short, abrupt laugh and said with decision: "A little is of no use to me. I need a lot of money. But perhaps you'll not think it much." "How much do you want?" asked Trirodov abruptly. "Twenty thousand roubles," replied Ostrov, making a determined effort to brazen it out.
Egorka was buried. His mother wept long over his grave in long-drawn-out wails, then went home. She was convinced that her boy would be far better off there than upon the earth, and was consoled. But such truly Russian people as Kerbakh, Ostrov, and others would not be consoled. They let loose evil rumours. The report spread: "The Jews have tortured a Christian boy.
Karl Steinmetz had apparently been transacting business on the Vassili Ostrov, which the travelled reader doubtless knows as the northern bank of the Neva, a part of Petersburg an island, as the name tells us, where business is transacted; where steamers land their cargoes and riverside loafers impede the traffic.
I am tired as a ballet dancer after five acts and eight tableaux. Dinners, letters which I am too lazy to answer, conversations and imbecilities of all sorts. I have to go immediately to dine in Vassilyevsky Ostrov, and I am bored and ought to work. I'll stay another three days and see whether the ballet will go on the same, then I shall go home, or to see Ivan.
"What is your profession?" asked Piotr. Ostrov bowed with dignity and said: "I'm an actor!" "I doubt it," said Piotr once more sharply, "you look more like a detective." "You are mistaken," said Ostrov in a flustered way. Piotr turned away from him. "Let us go home at once," he said to the sisters. It was growing dark. Ostrov was approaching Trirodov's gates. His face betrayed agitation.
A company of suspicious characters was in town ready to do anything they were bidden. Yakov Poltinin led Ostrov also among this company. In the course of the company's friendly carouse at Poltinin's apartments in a dirty little house on the outskirts of the town, the idea of stealing the sacred ikon came into some one's mind.
"You had better apply to him personally. It would be more proper." Ostrov again burst into a sarcastic laugh and exclaimed: "I can't deny that that would be proper, my handsome barefoot one. But suppose he's very busy, eh? How, then, would you advise me to get this interesting information I want?" The sisters were silent and walked on rapidly. Ostrov persisted: "You are of his colony?
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