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Updated: May 27, 2025
Ah, my lad, when you weren't here ... he, he, he ... Pyetushkov laughed and made a sudden duck forward with his nose. 'Yes, it's an accomplished fact, he, he, he.... However, he added, trying to assume a dignified air, 'I'm all right. He tried to lift his foot, but almost fell over, and to preserve his dignity pronounced in a deep bass, 'Boy, bring my pipe!
'There's no denying the fact, he pronounced, stroking his light brown whiskers, 'we've got girls here that beat any of your Venus of Medicis hollow.... Have you seen Vassilissa, the baker girl, for instance? ... Mr. Bublitsyn sucked at his pipe. Pyetushkov started.
'Silence! No arguing! sounded after Pyetushkov the disjointed exclamations of his exasperated superior officer. A queer sensation overmastered Ivan Afanasiitch when, at last, he found himself in the street. 'Why am I walking as it were in a dream? he thought to himself. 'Am I out of my mind, or what? Why, it passes all belief, at last.
And she did not even ask if I were well. Never even said, "Is Ivan Afanasiitch quite well?" She hasn't seen me for two whole days and not a sign.... She's even again, maybe, thought fit to meet that Bub Lucky fellow. Ouf, devil take it, what a fool I am! Pyetushkov got up, paced up and down the room in silence, stood still, knitted his brows slightly and scratched his neck.
Come, damn it, she's tired of me, come, and I've grown tired of her, come, and ... What is there out of the way in that? Pyetushkov frowned. 'I must put an end to it, once for all, he said almost aloud. 'I'll go and speak out decisively for the last time, so that it may never come up again. Pyetushkov made his way with rapid step to the baker's shop.
Why I never gave her anything, as you know. 'That's why she's flung you over. 'No, that's not why! responded Pyetushkov with a sigh. 'Why, you're in love with her to this day, Onisim retorted malignantly. 'You'd be glad to go back there as before. 'That's nonsense you're talking. No, my lad, you don't know me either, I can see.
'Are you unwell, Ivan Afanasiitch? he asked Pyetushkov. Pyetushkov made no answer. 'Shall I go for the doctor? Onisim continued, after a brief pause. 'I'm quite well.... Go away, Ivan Afanasiitch articulated huskily. 'Well? ... no, you're not well, Ivan Afanasiitch.... Is this what you call being well? Pyetushkov did not speak. 'Just look at yourself.
'Here's a roll for you, sir, she said, laughing, 'I'd taken for myself; but take it, please, I'll give it up to you. 'I thank you most sincerely. Allow me ... Pyetushkov began fumbling in his pocket. 'No, no! you are welcome to it. She closed the window-pane. Pyetushkov arrived home in a perfectly agreeable frame of mind.
She can't even speak as she ought.... She's simply a baggage! Worse, even! 'Go away, Ivan Afanasiitch moaned into the cushion. 'No, I'm not going away, Ivan Afanasiitch. Who's to speak, if I don't? Why, upon my word! Here, you 're breaking your heart now ... and over what? Eh, over what? tell me that! 'Oh, go away, Onisim, Pyetushkov moaned again.
Onisim did not leave his side all night. Towards morning Pyetushkov fell asleep, but he did not sleep long. At seven o'clock he got up from the sofa, pale, dishevelled, and exhausted, and asked for tea. Onisim with amazing eagerness and speed brought the samovar. 'Ivan Afanasiitch, he began at last, in a timid voice, 'your honour is not angry with me?
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