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Updated: May 27, 2025
Give me my pipe.... So she, he went on after a short silence Vassilissa, I mean, says then ... But Onisim had no desire to continue the conversation, and he assumed his habitual morose expression. Ivan Afanasiitch's acquaintance with Praskovia Ivanovna began in the following manner. Five days after his conversation with Onisim, Pyetushkov set off in the evening to the baker's shop.
He's got such a difficult name. 'Bublitsyn? 'Yes, yes ... Piotr Petrovitch. 'And do you know him? 'Rather! responded Vassilissa, with a wag of her head. Pyetushkov, without a word, paced ten times up and down the room. 'I say, Vassilissa, he said at last, 'that is, how do you know him? 'How do I know him? ... I know him ... He's such a nice gentleman.
Yes, my lad, I've been drinking.... Dri-ink-ing, lad.... Who's that? he cried suddenly, pointing to the door into the passage; 'who's there? 'Nobody's there, Onisim answered hastily: 'who should be there? ... where are you going? 'No, no, repeated Pyetushkov, breaking away from Onisim, 'let me go, I saw don't you talk to me, I saw there, let me go.... Vassilissa! he shrieked all at once.
Onisim was restrained by respect for his master from giving full expression to his feelings. 'That's whom it is you should make friends with. 'Well, I've no objection. Onisim looked approvingly at Ivan Afanasiitch. 'But with what object precisely am I to make friends with her? inquired Pyetushkov. 'What for, indeed! answered Onisim serenely.
No calling a draggletail old woman auntie! No disgracing the uniform! Silence! No arguing! The major's voice broke. He took breath, and turning towards the door into the passage, bawled, 'Frolka, you scoundrel! The herrings! Pyetushkov rose hurriedly and darted away, almost upsetting the page-boy, who ran to meet him, carrying some sliced herring and a stout decanter of spirits on an iron tray.
'Why should I be angry with you, Onisim? answered poor Pyetushkov. 'You were perfectly right yesterday, and I quite agreed with you in everything. 'I only spoke through my devotion to you, Ivan Afanasiitch. 'I know that. Pyetushkov was silent and hung his head. Onisim saw that things were in a bad way. 'Ivan Afanasiitch, he said suddenly. 'Well? 'Would you like me to fetch Vassilissa here?
Tiutiurov's hat; the two outer horses turned their heads on each side, jauntily stepping over the short, green grass ... the coachman gave a whistle of approbation and warning, the carriage disappeared behind some willows. A long while poor Pyetushkov remained standing still. 'I'm a poor lonely creature, he whispered at last ... 'alone in the world.
'Maybe you'll read stories, then. 'You shall see to-morrow. In the evening Pyetushkov returned home, and began rummaging in his boxes.
The conversation was always begun, 'scratched up, by Pyetushkov; Onisim responded unwillingly. 'It's a strange thing, you know, Ivan Afanasiitch would say, for instance, as he lay on the sofa, while Onisim stood in his usual attitude, leaning against the door, with his hands folded behind his back, 'when you come to think of it, what it was I saw in that girl.
'Yes, sir, responded Onisim, as abruptly as if some one had just given him a shove from behind. Pyetushkov set off, reached the baker's shop, tapped at the window. The fat woman opened the pane. 'Give me a roll, please, Ivan Afanasiitch articulated slowly. The fat woman stuck out an arm, bare to the shoulder a huge arm, more like a leg than an arm and thrust the hot bread just under his nose.
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