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Updated: May 22, 2025
"The merchant Falyaeva has nothing whatever to do with it," Sipiagin began; "I know nothing of his ideas; I was only talking of his factory where Mr. Nejdanov is to be found at this very moment, as Mr. Paklin says " "I said nothing of the kind!" Paklin cried; "you said it yourself!" "Excuse me, Mr.
"Alexai Dmitritch," Sipiagin said to Nejdanov, "we are addicted to the bad habit of playing cards in the evening, and even play a forbidden game, stukushka.... I won't ask you to join us, but perhaps Mariana will be good enough to play you something on the piano. You like music, I hope." And without waiting for an answer Sipiagin took up a pack of cards.
"I am extremely grateful to you," Sipiagin said in the same feeble tone of voice, and violently pressing a bell, shaped like a mushroom, he filled the whole house with its clear metallic ring.
At the words, Nejdanov, who until then had scarcely noticed Mariana, who sat a little to one side, exchanged glances with her, and instantly felt that this solemn girl and he were of the same convictions, of the same stamp. She had made no impression on him whatever when Sipiagin had introduced them; then why did he exchange glances with her in particular?
"Just a minute, please," Sipiagin interrupted him, "I think I've seen you before. I never forget faces. But er... er... really... where have I seen you?" "You are not mistaken, your excellency. I had the honour of meeting you in St. Petersburg at a certain person's who... who has since... unfortunately... incurred your displeasure " Sipiagin jumped up from his chair. "Why, at Mr. Nejdanov's?
As soon as he was announced Sipiagin jumped up, exclaiming in a voice loud enough to be heard in the hall, "Show him in, of course show him in!" He then went up to the drawing-room door and stood waiting.
The next day Sipiagin noticed Nejdanov's advertisement in the paper and went to see him. "My name is Sipiagin," he repeated, as he sat in front of Nejdanov, surveying him with a dignified air. "I see by your advertisement that you are looking for a post, and I should like to know if you would be willing to come to me. I am married and have a boy of eight, a very intelligent child, I may say.
"Besides, I've not come here for long." "Voila ou l'ours a montre sa patte," she thought in French, but at this moment her husband appeared in the doorway, his hat on his head and a walking stick in his hand. "Are you ready, Vassily Fedosaitch?" he asked in a free and easy tone, half turned towards him. Solomin rose, bowed to Valentina Mihailovna, and walked out behind Sipiagin.
When Mariana and Nejdanov drew near to the house, Valentina Mihailovna looked at them from the balcony through her lorgnette, shook her head slowly with a smile on her lips, then returning through the open glass door into the drawing-room, where Sipiagin was already seated at preferences with their toothless neighbour, who had dropped in to tea, she drawled out, laying stress on each syllable: "How damp the air is!
In this letter, which exhaled an odour, not of perfume, but of some extraordinarily respectable English smell and was written in the third person, not by a secretary, but by the gentleman himself, the cultured owner of the village Arjanov, he begged to be excused for addressing himself to a man with whom he had not the honour of being personally acquainted, but of whom he, Sipiagin, had heard so many flattering accounts, and ventured to invite Mr.
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