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Updated: May 29, 2025
Like Foma, he regarded Yozhov with the same condescending pity, but more as a friend and equal. Whenever Gordyeeff quarrelled with Yozhov, Smolin hastened to reconcile them, and he said to Foma one day, on their way home: "Why do you always quarrel with Yozhov?" "Well, why is he so self-conceited?" said Foma, angrily. "He is proud because you never know your lessons, and he always helps you out.
What was the profit altogether? Thirty kopecks. And there were two peddlers. One of them got 17. Well, how much did the other one get?" "I know," replied Foma, in a whisper, feeling confused and examining the face of Smolin, who was sedately returning to his seat. He didn't like that round, freckled face, with the blue eyes, which were loaded with fat.
Formerly the dog used to relish a crust, now the pug dog finds the cream too thin; pardon me for my sour remark, but it is very much to the point. It does not exactly refer to yourself, but in general." Lubov turned pale and looked at Smolin with fright.
During recess he learned from Yozhov that Smolin, too, was rich, being the son of a tan-yard proprietor, and that Yozhov himself was the son of a guard at the Court of Exchequer, and very poor.
I do everything well," said Smolin, calmly. The bell began to bang as though it had been frightened and was hastily running somewhere. Sitting in school, Foma began to feel somewhat freer, and compared his friends with the rest of the boys.
"On account of your conversation, you have forgotten to offer some wine to our guest," she said at last, after a few seconds of painful silence. "That's your business. You are hostess," retorted the old man. "Oh, don't disturb yourself!" exclaimed Smolin, with animation. "I hardly drink at all." "Really?" asked Mayakin. "I assure you!
"It's all right! You can talk of this later," said the old man, scanning his daughter with his eyes. "Lubova, you can make your arrangements here, while we finish our little conversation. Well then, African Mitrich, explain yourself." "You will pardon me, Lubov Yakovlevna, won't you?" asked Smolin, gently. "Pray do not stand upon ceremony," said Lubov.
"I am not fond of the balls and entertainments given by the merchants." "And the theatre?" asked Smolin. "I seldom go there. I have no one to go with." "The theatre!" exclaimed the old man. "Tell me, pray, why has it become the fashion then to represent the merchant as a savage idiot? It is very amusing, but it is incomprehensible, because it is false!
"After the wedding I'll persuade him to take me abroad," thought Lubov, suddenly, and, confused at this thought she forgot what she was about to say to her father. Blushing deeply, she was silent for a few seconds, seized with fear lest Smolin might interpret this silence in a way unflattering to her.
"So that now your intention is to build such a great factory that all the others will go to the dogs?" "Oh, no!" exclaimed Smolin, warding off the old man's words with an easy wave of the hand. "Why wrong others? What right have I to do so?
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