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Updated: May 8, 2025
'Tfoo! curse it! he muttered, spitting into the water; 'here's a go. It's all you, you old devil! he added, turning wrathfully to Sutchok; 'you've such a boat! 'It's my fault, stammered the old man. 'Yes; and you're a nice one, continued my huntsman, turning his head in Vladimir's direction; 'what were you thinking of? Why weren't you baling out? you, you?
"Stick your finger in! Are you deaf, fellow, or what? Tfoo!" "What are you after, lads?" shouts Yefim. "An eel-pout! We can't get him out! He's hidden under the roots. Get round to the side! To the side!" For a minute Yefim screws up his eye at the fishermen, then he takes off his bark shoes, throws his sack off his shoulders, and takes off his shirt.
When you take a bit in your mouth there's a sniff as though you had gone into a stable at the very moment when the coachmen were taking off their leg-wrappers; when you begin chewing it, you feel as though you had fastened your teeth into a dog's tail defiled with pitch. Tfoo! I ate some once or twice, and threw it away.
And goodness knows what it's like here! The bed not made, the slops, the dirt . . . yesterday's porridge in the plates. . . Tfoo!" "That's true," said the student in confusion; "but Anyuta has had no time to-day to tidy up; she's been busy all the while."
Is one not enough? Go away till . . . . Torturers!" Bugrov paused; then shouted: "Go away I tell you, go to the nursery! Why are you blubbering, it is your own fault, and you blubber! What a woman! Last year you were after Petka Totchkov, now you are after this devil. Lord forgive us! . . . Tfoo, it's time you understood what you are! A wife! A mother!
Ah, Alyosha, if you only knew how light my heart is now! Would you believe, it, I sat here eating my dinner and was nearly ordering champagne to celebrate my first hour of freedom. Tfoo! It’s been going on nearly six months, and all at once I’ve thrown it off. I could never have guessed even yesterday, how easy it would be to put an end to it if I wanted.” “You are speaking of your love, Ivan?”
"Strike me dead, it's the truth!..." "It's about as true as that a louse coughs." "He-he!" grins Iona. "Me-er-ry gentlemen!" "Tfoo! the devil take you!" cries the hunchback indignantly. "Will you get on, you old plague, or won't you? Is that the way to drive? Give her one with the whip. Hang it all, give it her well."
There is one fact.... But it's a long story and there's no need to discuss it. But do you know what angers me? It annoys me that all those stupid brutish faces will be gaping at me directly, pestering me with their stupid questions, which I shall have to answer they'll point their fingers at me.... Tfoo! You know I am not going to Porfiry, I am sick of him.
A viper has fastened upon him and he pampers her, and hasn't the pluck to kick her out. Tfoo! To think there should be women like that, God forgive me! Eh? Has she no shame? She has fastened upon the lad, sticking to him, and keeps him tied to her apron strings. . . . Fie upon her!" "Perhaps it's not she keeps hold of him, but he of her?" "She is a shameless one anyway!
Wilka Charlesovna Fyce! Tfoo! There is no getting it out!" The Englishwoman, hearing her name, deliberately turned her nose in Gryabov's direction and scanned him with a disdainful glance; she raised her eyes from Gryabov to Otsov and steeped him in disdain. And all this in silence, with dignity and deliberation. "Did you see?" said Gryabov chuckling.
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