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Updated: June 4, 2025
Masha smiled; her face brightened. 'Well, kill me, Panteley Eremyitch; as you will; but go back, I won't. 'You won't come back? Tchertop-hanov cocked the pistol. 'I won't go back, my dearie. Never in my life will I go back. My word is steadfast. Tchertop-hanov suddenly thrust the pistol into her hand, and sat down on the ground. 'Then, you kill me! Without you I don't care to live.
Tihon Ivanitch Nedopyuskin could not, like Panteley Eremyitch, pride himself on his origin. His father came of the peasant proprietor class, and only after forty years of service attained the rank of a noble. Mr. Nedopyuskin, the father, belonged to the number of those people who are pursued by misfortune with an obduracy akin to personal hatred.
Yegorushka, with his hands in his pockets, was standing by Panteley, watching how the fire devoured the grass. All were resting, musing on something, and they glanced cursorily at the cross over which patches of red light were dancing.
The day after his return, Panteley Eremyitch called Perfishka in to him, and for want of anyone else to talk to, began telling him keeping up, of course, his sense of his own dignity and his bass voice how he had succeeded in finding Malek-Adel.
"I went another journey with a merchant, too, . . ." Panteley went on again, speaking as before in a low voice and with fixed unblinking eyes. "His name, as I remember now, was Pyotr Grigoritch. He was a nice man, . . . the merchant was.
"Grass snakes ought not to be killed, that's true," Panteley muttered placidly, "they ought not. . . They are not vipers; though it looks like a snake, it is a gentle, innocent creature. . . . It's friendly to man, the grass snake is." Dymov and the man with the black beard were probably ashamed, for they laughed loudly, and not answering, slouched lazily back to their waggons.
'You might as well be married to me at once! jested Perfishka, giving the cook a dig in the ribs with his elbow. 'No fear! the master'll never come back to us; and here I shall be bored to death all alone! A year passed... a whole year: no news had come of Panteley Eremyitch.
I am a nobleman myself, and am very pleased to do any service to a nobleman.... And my name is Panteley Tchertop-hanov. He bowed, hallooed, gave his horse a lash on the neck; the horse shook its head, reared, shied, and trampled on a dog's paws. The dog gave a piercing squeal.
Styopka, with the notched spoon in his hand, took his place in the smoke by the cauldron, gazing dreamily into the water for the scum to rise. Panteley and Emelyan were sitting side by side in silence, brooding over something.
The estate came into Panteley Eremyitch's father's hands in a crippled condition; he, in his turn, 'played ducks and drakes' with it, and when he died, left his sole heir, Panteley, the small mortgaged village of Bezsonovo, with thirty-five souls of the male, and seventy-six of the female sex, and twenty-eight acres and a half of useless land on the waste of Kolobrodova, no record of serfs for which could be found among the deceased's deeds.
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