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Updated: June 8, 2025
That he was not one of his own herd really meant nothing. But in Platonov there not only was none of this customary wagging of the tail before youth, but, on the contrary, there was to be felt a certain abstracted, calm and polite indifference.
He jumped and he jumped, and then suddenly plumped down ... Oh, well, it's an easy death at least! And also I forgot to ask you, Sergei Ivanovich ... This is the last, now ... Is there a God or no?" Platonov knit his eyebrows. "What answer can I make? I don't know. I think that there is, but not such as we imagine Him. He is more wise, more just..." "And future life? There, after death?
With difficulty tearing the supple arms of Jennie away from him, and pushing her away, he said, laughing, having turned red and breathing hard: "There's a temperament for you! Oh, you Messalina Paphnutievna! ... They call you Jennka, I think? You're a good-looking little rascal." Platonov returned with Pasha. Pasha was pitiful and revolting to look at.
This was a letter from Jennka, written in a round, naive, rolling, childish handwriting, and not very well spelt. "Sergei Ivanich. Forgive me that I disturbe you. I must talk over a very, very important matter with you. I would not be troubling you if it was Trifles. For only 10 minutes in all. Jennka, whom you know, from Anna Markovna's." Platonov got up.
"And most important of all," added Platonov, "that would at once spoil for me all the friendly relations which have been so well built up." "Enough of joking!" incredulously retorted Lichonin. "Then what compels you to pass days and nights here? Were you a writer it would be a different matter.
I'll tell everything at once, there, where we're going now." In the dim, low-ceiled little inn, the customary haunt of petty thieves, where business was carried on only in the evening, until very far into the night, Platonov took the little half-dark cubby hole. "Give me boiled meat, cucumbers, a large glass of vodka, and bread," he ordered the waiter.
He had an unfortunate peculiarity intoxication acted neither upon his legs nor his tongue, but put him in a morose, touchy frame of mind and egged him on into quarrels. And Platonov had already for a long time irritated him with his negligently sincere, assured and serious bearing, so little suitable to the private cabinet of a brothel.
"But I, now, not the very least bit." "That's wrong...You go away now, young fellow. When I'll need you I'll call out," said Platonov to the serving-man "Absolutely wrong, Jennechka! This was an unusually big and forceful man. Such come only one to the hundreds of thousands. I don't respect suicides.
She understood, slowly, scarcely perceptibly, lowered her eyelashes as a sign of consent, and, when she again raised them, Platonov, who almost without looking had seen this silent dialogue, was struck by that expression of malice and menace in her eyes which she sped the back of the departing Ramses.
"Once, somehow, they saddled me with the arrangement of this benefit performance in the National Theatre. Also, there dimly glimmers some clean-shaven haughty visage, but ... What shall it be, gentlemen?" Lichonin answered good-naturedly: "Why, drag him here. Perhaps he's funny." "And you?" the sub-professor turned to Platonov. "It's all the same to me. I know him slightly.
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