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Updated: May 27, 2025
Pyetushkov gazed a long while at Onisim without speaking, then told him to bring him his new coat. Onisim, with some surprise, obeyed. Pyetushkov dressed, and carefully drew on his chamois-leather gloves. 'You needn't go to the baker's to-day, said he with some hesitation; 'I'm going myself, ... it's on my way.
Twenty times Pyetushkov was on the point of getting up, and twenty times he huddled miserably under the sheepskin.... At last he really did get down from the stove and determined to go home, and positively went out into the yard, but came back. Praskovia Ivanovna got up. The hired man, Luka, black as a beetle, though he was a baker, put the bread into the oven.
'On the other hand, continued Pyetushkov, growing more and more agitated, 'if Vassilissa were, for instance, to give an explanation of her behaviour ... possibly.... Though, of course ... I don't know, possibly, I might perceive that after all there was no great matter for blame in it. 'There's thirty-seven roubles and forty kopecks in notes to your account, sir, observed Praskovia Ivanovna.
Vassilissa ran into the house. Pyetushkov returned home. But from that day he began going often to the baker's shop, and his visits were not for nothing. Ivan Afanasiitch's hopes, to use the lofty phraseology suitable, were crowned with success. Usually, the attainment of the goal has a cooling effect on people, but Pyetushkov, on the contrary, grew every day more and more ardent.
You are such a one ... Lord, forgive us.... Pyetushkov put on a dignified and chilly air. 'I will direct my man to look. Seeing that I was not here yesterday, he pronounced significantly.... 'Ah, why, to be sure, you weren't here yesterday. Vassilissa squatted down on her heels, and began rummaging in the chest.... 'Aunt, hi! aunt! 'What sa-ay? 'Have you taken my neckerchief?
In the first place, from the time of his establishing himself at Vassilissa's, Pyetushkov dropped more than ever out of all intercourse with his comrades. Secondly, Onisim gave him no peace; he had lost every trace of respect for him, he mercilessly persecuted him, put him to shame. And ... thirdly.... Alas! read further, kindly reader. The mistress of the house was not at home.
He went in to Ivan Afanasiitch. Pyetushkov was standing in the middle of the room, both hands in his pockets, his legs excessively wide apart; he was slightly swaying backwards and forwards. His face was hot, and his eyes were sparkling. 'Hullo, Onisim, he faltered amiably, articulating the consonants very indistinctly and thickly: 'hullo, my lad.
Praskovia Ivanovna went on bowing. 'What ever for? muttered the astounded Pyetushkov. 'Oh, nothing, sir. For mercy's sake ... 'No, Praskovia Ivanovna, you must explain this! ... 'Vassilissa asks you. She says, "I thank you, thank you very much, and from my heart; only for the future, your honour, give us up." Praskovia Ivanovna bowed down almost to Pyetushkov's feet.
He pondered a long while which to choose, and finally made up his mind to take Kozlov's poem, and Roslavlev. Next day Pyetushkov dressed in haste, put both the books under the lapel of his coat, went to the baker's shop, and began reading aloud Zagoskin's novel.
'A roll, if you please, Pyetushkov said amiably. 'The rolls are all gone, piped the fat woman. 'Haven't you any rolls? 'No. 'How's that? really! I take rolls from you every day, and pay for them regularly. The woman stared at him in silence. 'Take twists, she said at last, yawning; 'or a scone. 'I don't like them, said Pyetushkov, and he felt positively hurt.
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