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Updated: May 22, 2025
"Really, auntie, you are always so..." muttered Marya Dmitrievna in a tone of vexation, drumming on the arm of her chair with her finger-tips. "Sergei Petrovitch Gedeonovsky!" was announced in a shrill piping voice, by a rosy-cheeked little page who made his appearance at the door.
When Sergei Kovroff sat down to preside over the bank, the sparkling of the diamonds admirably masked those motions of his fingers which needed to be masked; they almost insensibly drew away the eyes of the players from his fingers, and this was most of all what Sergei Kovroff desired. Round the table about thirty guests were gathered.
Sergei Antonovitch, according to his expression, "went to the root of the matter," and indicated the "source of the evil," very frankly attacking the policy of the government, which did everything to discourage gold mining, hedging round this most important industry with all kinds of difficulties, and practically prohibiting the free production of the precious metals by laying on it a dead weight of costly formalities.
"Allow me ... I do not mistake? Sergei Ivanovich, I believe?" "Right." "Allow me to offer you a cup of coffee, Sergei Ivanovich. It's refreshing. Or perhaps, let's drink this same dubious Lafitte?" "No, you really must allow me to refuse. I have a drink of my own ... Simeon, give me..." "Cognac!" cried out Niura hurriedly. "And with a pear!" Little White Manka caught up just as fast.
We cannot leave Bakunin without a passing mention of his favourite pupil Sergei Netschajew, although he was still less of a pure Anarchist than Bakunin, and can still less easily be separated from Russian Nihilism. We regret all the more that we are limited to this source of information.
'Sergei Pavlitch, you understand me? 'Dmitri Nikolaitch, I don't understand you in the least. 'You prefer 'I prefer you should speak plainly! broke in Volintsev. He was beginning to be angry in earnest. Rudin frowned. Volintsev turned white, but made no reply. He walked to the window and stood with his back turned.
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?
Instead of arriving with four horses and a travelling carriage you sneak in, without a servant, in a miserable kibitka, you, a Raisky. Look at the old house, at the portraits of your ancestors, and take shame to yourself. Shame, Borushka! How splendid it would have been if you had come epauletted like Sergei Ivanovich, and had married a wife with a dowry of three thousand souls."
Or he'll perhaps come and give you one or two in the ribs; then you'll dance to another tune! Port side now! Ouch!" And with his muscles strung like steel springs, Sergei gives a powerful push to his pole, forcing it deep down into the water.
A few days after the reception at Prince Shadursky's Baroness von Doring was installed in a handsome apartment on Mokhovoi Street, at which her "brother," Ian Karozitch, or, to give him his former name, Bodlevski, was a frequent visitor. By a "lucky accident" he had met on the day following the reception our old friend Sergei Antonovitch Kovroff, the "captain of the Golden Band."
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