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Updated: June 18, 2025
"Borrow it, for God's sake!" said Laevsky, seeing from Samoylenko's face that he wanted to lend him the money and certainly would lend it. "Borrow it, and I'll be sure to pay you back. I will send it from Petersburg as soon as I get there. You can set your mind at rest about that. I'll tell you what, Sasha," he said, growing more animated; "let us have some wine."
How is one to make out in such circumstances whether one is loved or not? Whether the love is "the real thing" or not? From the park I took Sasha home with me. The presence of the beloved woman in one's bachelor quarters affects one like wine and music. Usually one begins to speak of the future, and the confidence and self-reliance with which one does so is beyond bounds.
There Sophya Pavlovna Medinskaya is standing, her hands hanging impotently, just as she stood in her drawing-room when he saw her last. Her eyes were large, but some great fright gleams in them. Sasha, too, is here.
"But what is better?" Foma looked at her askance and, irritated, said: "What repulsive words you speak." "Well, here again I haven't pleased him!" said Sasha, laughing. "What a fine crowd!" said Foma, painfully wrinkling his face. "They're like trees. They also live, but how? No one understands. They are crawling somewhere. And can give no account either to themselves or to others.
It would never enter their heads, and nothing is more hateful than to have to restrain one's raptures simply because of the intrusion of some animate trumpery in the shape of a half-deaf old woman or little girl pestering one with questions. I sent an answer by the maid asking Sasha to select some park or boulevard for a rendezvous. My suggestion was readily accepted.
And it vexed her that this foreboding and the thought of Sasha did not distress her so much as before. She had a passionate desire for life, longed to be in Petersburg, and her friendship with Sasha seemed now sweet but something far, far away! She did not sleep all night, and in the morning sat at the window, listening.
She wanted so much to hear more about the possibility of an escape. "I must see Vyesovshchikov," said Nikolay. "All right. To-morrow I'll tell you when and where," replied Sasha. "What is he going to do?" asked Sofya, pacing through the room. "It's been decided to make him compositor in a new printing place. Until then he'll stay with the forester." Sasha's brow lowered.
He stopped with us another couple of hours, yet could not sit still for a moment, but kept jumping up from his seat, laughing, cracking jokes with Sasha, bestowing stealthy kisses upon myself, pinching my hands, and making silent grimaces at Anna Thedorovna. At length, she turned him out of the house. In short, his transports of joy exceeded anything that I had yet beheld.
"I know, for instance, that you are awake now," she answered, without turning to him. "Awake? That's true. I've awakened," said Foma, thoughtfully and, throwing his arm behind his head, went on: "That's why I am asking you. What sort of man do you think I am?" "A man with a drunken headache," answered Sasha, yawning. "Aleksandra!" exclaimed Foma, beseechingly, "don't talk nonsense!
"I?" Sasha thought awhile and said with a wave of the hand: "Perhaps I am not greedy what of it? I am not of the very lowest of the street women. And against whom shall I feel a grudge? Let them say whatever they please. It will be only human talk, not the bellowing of bulls. And human holiness and honesty are quite familiar to me! Eh, how well I know them!
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