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Madame Odintsov listened to him with courteous sympathy, slightly opening and closing her fan; his talk was broken off when partners came for her; Sitnikov, among others, twice asked her.
He slapped Arkady on the back, and called him loudly 'nephew'; vouchsafed Bazarov who was attired in a rather old evening coat a sidelong glance in passing absent but condescending and an indistinct but affable grunt, in which nothing could be distinguished but 'I ... and 'very much'; gave Sitnikov a finger and a smile, though with his head already averted; even to Madame Kukshin, who made her appearance at the ball with dirty gloves, no crinoline, and a bird of Paradise in her hair, he said 'enchanté. There were crowds of people, and no lack of dancing men; the civilians were for the most part standing close along the walls, but the officers danced assiduously, especially one of them who had spent six weeks in Paris, where he had mastered various daring interjections of the kind of 'zut, 'Ah, fichtr-re, 'pst, pst, mon bibi, and such.
Then Sitnikov jumped into the carriage, and growling at two passing peasants, 'Put on your caps, idiots! he drove to the town, where he arrived very late, and where, next day, at Madame Kukshin's, he dealt very severely with two 'disgusting stuck-up churls. When he was seated in the coach by Bazarov, Arkady pressed his hand warmly, and for a long while he said nothing.
'What the devil made that fool of a Sitnikov turn up here? Bazarov at first stirred a little in his bed, then he uttered the following rejoinder: 'You're still a fool, my boy, I see. Sitnikovs are indispensable to us. I do you understand? I need dolts like him. It's not for the gods to bake bricks, in fact!...
She said little, but her words showed a knowledge of life; from some of her observations Arkady gathered that this young woman had already felt and thought much.... 'Who is that you were standing with? she asked him, 'when Mr. Sitnikov brought you to me? 'Did you notice him? Arkady asked in his turn. 'He has a splendid face, hasn't he? That's Bazarov, my friend.
Katya looked at him silently and seriously; the princess went so far as to cross herself under her shawl so that he could not help noticing it. Sitnikov, on the other hand, was completely disconcerted.
'Your excellency, please to come in! cried Sitnikov. The prince leaped out of the trap. Hlopakov slowly descended on the other side. 'Good morning, friend ... any horses. 'You may be sure we've horses for your excellency! Pray walk in.... Petya, bring out Peacock! and let them get Favourite ready too.
'A clever beast, I thought. 'Give him his head, give him his head, said Sitniker, and he stared at me. 'What may you think of him? he inquired at last. 'The horse's not bad the hind legs aren't quite sound. 'His legs are first-rate! Sitnikov rejoined, with an air of conviction; and his hind-quarters ... just look, sir ... broad as an oven you could sleep up there. 'His pasterns are long.
Things came at last to Evdoksya, flushed from the wine she had drunk, tapping with her flat finger-tips on the keys of a discordant piano, and beginning to sing in a hoarse voice, first gipsy songs, and then Seymour Schiff's song, 'Granada lies slumbering'; while Sitnikov tied a scarf round his head, and represented the dying lover at the words 'And thy lips to mine In burning kiss entwine.
Hi, Kuzya, put Pursuer into the droshky!" Kuzya, the jockey, a real master of horsemanship, drove three times past us up and down the street. The horse went well, without changing its pace, nor shambling; it had a free action, held its tail high, and covered the ground well. "And what are you asking for him?" Sitnikov asked an impossible price.
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