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Updated: May 17, 2025
Rameyev looked at her in astonishment. "No, I don't think that," put in Trirodov. "There's real pleasure in meeting." "That's the usual thing to say in polite society," said Piotr quietly. Trirodov glanced at him with a smile and turned to Rameyev. "I say it in all sincerity, I am glad to have made your acquaintance.
On the other hand, Piotr Petrovich, who from his university days had retained the habit of reducing any conversation to a discussion, spoke tediously, slowly, and deliberately, with an obvious desire to be taken for a clever and progressive man. He gesticulated and upset the sauce with his sleeve and it made a large pool on the table-cloth, though nobody but myself seemed to notice it.
"Let us admit, then, that there's something in his work not altogether bad," continued Piotr. "Who is there nowadays who cannot put together some nice-sounding versicles! Yet what is there really I should respect in him? He's nothing but a corrupt, bald-headed, ridiculous, and dull-sighted person yet Elisaveta considers him a handsome man!"
'Come along, Piotr, Fustov repeated, completely losing his habitual coolness and self-possession. 'Let's leave this wretch of a boy! 'The boy's not afraid of you, do you hear, Viktor shouted after us, 'he despises you, the boy does! Do you hear! Fustov walked so quickly along the street that I had difficulty in keeping up with him. All at once he stopped short and turned sharply back.
We have been so intimate from childhood yet it seems that we must part! Our ways are different, we think differently, and believe differently." Piotr listened to her with an expression of intense impatience and vexation. Elisaveta wished to continue, but he interrupted: "Ah, but what's the good of saying that? Elisaveta, do, I beg you, forget our differences. They are so petty!
Piotr Andreitch's wife was a meek-spirited creature; he had taken her from a neighbouring family by his father's choice and command; her name was Anna Pavlovna. She never interfered in anything, welcomed guests cordially, and readily paid visits herself, though being powdered, she used to declare, would be the death of her.
And finally Piotr, who dared anything for his master, sent, secretly, for Kashkine whom he believed endowed with miraculous powers wherever his Prince was concerned. But for once Kashkine's presence seemed powerless to rouse the composer from his lassitude: a feat which was eventually accomplished by one who knew him more intimately than any man.
We laughed and talked of the incidents of the day's shooting, and recalled with enthusiasm two glorious 'runs. After dining pretty heartily, we settled comfortably into ample arm-chairs round the fire; a huge silver bowl made its appearance on the table, and in a few minutes the white flame of the burning rum announced our host's agreeable intention 'to concoct a punch. Piotr Fedoritch was a man of some taste; he was aware, for instance, that nothing has so fatal an influence on the fancy as the cold, steady, pedantic light of a lamp, and so he gave orders that only two candles should be left in the room.
Trirodov was walking straight upon Piotr, as if he did not see him; he moved quickly, almost automatically, like a mechanical doll. He held a hat in the hand that hung loose at his side his face was pale he had a wild look his eyes were aflame. He uttered disconnected words. He walked so impetuously that Piotr had no time to turn aside. They came face to face, almost colliding with one another.
"I've not noticed either his vanity or his egoism," said Elisaveta coldly. "I wonder how you've managed to know him so well or so ill." "All this is pitiful and absurd nonsense, only an excuse for starting a quarrel," said Piotr angrily. "Petya, you envy him," retorted Elisaveta with unaccustomed sharpness.
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