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Updated: May 21, 2025
At thirteen, only fancy, she fell in love with her husband, and announced to us at the time that she would never marry any one else. We did everything we could nothing was of any use. She waited till she was three-and-twenty, and braved her father's anger, and so married her idol. There is no saying what Sonitchka might not do! The Lord preserve her from such stubbornness!
She crossed herself three times and went out with Sofya Lvovna to the entrance. "So you say you're happy, Sonitchka?" she asked when they came out at the gate. "Very." "Well, thank God for that." The two Volodyas, seeing the nun, got out of the sledge and greeted her respectfully.
'What's wrong? answered the man. 'I fancy she's crying.... I started up and went into the drawing-room for my hat. 'What were you talking about to Sonitchka? Varvara inquired indifferently, and after a brief pause she added in an undertone, 'Here's that clerk again. I began saying good-bye. 'Why are you going? Stay a little; mamma is coming down directly.
"I should like to have a look at Sonitchka," he whispered. "Arrange it, Borenka, my angel. I'll shave, I'll put on your suit . . . I'll put on a straight face . . . I'll hold my tongue while she is there. Yes, yes, I will hold my tongue!" He looked round timidly towards the door, through which the women's voices were heard, checked his sobs, and said aloud: "Good-bye, young man! Attendez."
But some jocose person had taught him the following lines, as a French song: 'Sonitchka, Sonitchka! Ke-voole-voo-de-mwa I adore you me-je-ne-pyoo-pa.... This supposed song he always used to hum to himself when he felt in good spirits. His father was also a man of incredible good-nature, always wore a long nankin coat, and whatever was said to him he responded with a smile.
"Sonia, Sonitchka . . . my darling woman!" he muttered, preventing her from speaking. "My dear! my sweet!" In a rush of tenderness, with tears in his voice, he showered caressing words upon her, that grew tenderer and tenderer, and even called her "thou," as though she were his wife or mistress. Quite unexpectedly he put one arm round her waist and with the other hand took hold of her elbow.
No, it's an arrow flying.... Ah, how quickly, and straight into my heart!... Who shot it? You, Sonitchka? He bent his head and began muttering disconnected words. I glanced at Elisei; he was standing, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing ruefully at his master.
The unlooked-for discovery I had made astonished me the more as Asanov was not often at the Zlotnitskys' house, much less so than I, and had shown no marked preference for Sonitchka. He was a handsome, dark fellow, with expressive but rather heavy features, with brilliant, prominent eyes, with a large white forehead, and full red lips under fine moustaches.
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