Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 26, 2025
"We have accomplished all that!" cried Yakov Tarasovich, pointing at the river. "It is all ours! We have built up life!" Suddenly rang out a loud exclamation which drowned all sounds: "Ah! So you have done it? Ah, you." And immediately after this, a vulgar oath resounded through the air, pronounced distinctly with great rancour, in a dull but powerful voice.
"Pshaw!" said Yakov Tarasovich, as he spat angrily. "Oh, devil! Come, come, is that possible?" Foma sat all this time in his corner, listening to the conversation between the Mayakins, and, blinking perplexedly, he fixedly examined the newcomer.
A river steamer is a place of permanent residence for the crew, and therefore it ought to be considered as a house. Consequently it is necessary to make the prayer 'At the Building of a House, in addition to that for the vessel. But what will you drink?" "I am not much of a wine fiend. Pour me out some cumin vodka," replied Yakov Tarasovich.
And she rushed out of the room, leaving behind her in the air the rustle of her silk gown, and the astonished Foma, who had not even had a chance to ask her where her father was. Yakov Tarasovich was at home. Attired in his holiday clothes, in a long frock coat with medals on his breast, he stood on the threshold with his hands outstretched, clutching at the door posts.
"But what a funeral that is going to be!" "Gentlemen! Let us establish a Mayakin fund! I put up a thousand!" "Silence! Hold on!" "Gentlemen!" Yakov Tarasovich began to speak again, quivering in every limb. "And, furthermore, we are the foremost men in life and the real masters in our fatherland because we are peasants! "Corr-rect!" "That's right! Dear mother! That's an old man for you!"
ONE Sunday afternoon, Yakov Tarasovich Mayakin was drinking tea in his garden and talking to his daughter. The collar of his shirt unbuttoned, a towel wound round his neck, he sat on a bench under a canopy of verdant cherry-trees, waved his hands in the air, wiped the perspiration off his face, and incessantly poured forth into the air his brisk speech.
Yakov Tarasovich, small-sized, wrinkled and bony, with black, broken teeth in his mouth, bald-headed and dark, as though burned by the heat of life and smoked in it, trembled in vehement agitation, showering jarring words of contempt upon his daughter, who was young, well-grown and plump.
Yakov Tarasovich became thoughtful, he pinched his beard and winked his eyes a little. "What kind of a book is it?" he asked his daughter, after a pause. "A little yellow-covered book," said Lubov, unwillingly. "Just put that book on my table. That is said not without reflection everything on earth is rational! See someone thought of it. Yes. It is even very cleverly expressed.
From the Volga were wafted the whistlings of steamers, the dull beating of the wheels upon the water, the shouting of the loaders life was moving onward unceasingly and unquestionably. Summoning the waiter with a nod Yakov Tarasovich asked him with peculiar intensity and impressiveness, "How much do I owe for all this?"
Come, let me embrace you!" "Let's toss, Mayakin! "Strike up the band." "Sound a flourish! A march. 'The Persian March." "We don't want any music! The devil take it!" "Here is the music! Eh, Yakov Tarasovich! What a mind!" "I was small among my brethren, but I was favoured with understanding." "You lie, Trofim!" "Yakov! you'll die soon. Oh, what a pity! Words can't express how sorry we are!"
Word Of The Day
Others Looking