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Updated: June 12, 2025
She asked timidly: "Whom do you mean, Zinaida Grigorievna?" "Whom else could I mean but Mr. Trirodov," replied Doulebova malignantly. The malice was all on Trirodov's account, but nevertheless Poterina trembled with fear. "Ah, yes, Trirodov; how then, how then...." she repeated in a worried, flustered way, and was at a loss what to say.
Trirodov's eyes had a tranquil look. He seemed remote. His voice had a calm, hollow sound. Ostrov exclaimed vehemently: "Don't imagine for a moment that I have fallen into a trap. If I don't leave this place, I have prepared something that will send you to gaol." "Nonsense," said Trirodov as quietly as before. "I'm not afraid. In the last resort I can emigrate."
It had already been decided that the party orator who was to come to speak at the projected mass meeting would be quartered at Trirodov's: this was thought to be the least dangerous place. Alkina came to say that the orator was expected that evening. It was necessary to bring him to Trirodov's house in such a way that the town should not know anything about it.
Follow this footpath." He made an obeisance and ran off. The sisters were quite alone now. They went on in the direction given them by the boy. A quiet vale opened up before them, and in the distance a white wall was visible, which concealed Trirodov's house. They continued their way towards the house.
The sisters descended into the hollow near Trirodov's colony, ascended it again to the other side, walked along the already familiar path, and opened the gate this time it yielded without effort. They entered. Soon they saw a lake before them. The children and their instructresses were bathing.
Trirodov's is of comparatively recent origin. I'm quite sure of that. Of recent origin, I assure you," repeated Ostrov, giving a sly wink. "And not of the cleanest?" asked Kerbakh. He winked at Zherbenev. The latter made a grimace and chuckled. Ostrov looked cautiously at Kerbakh. "Why do you assume so?" he asked. "No-o, I shouldn't say that. Quite clean.
Ostrov bowed to them with derisive politeness and said: "May I ask you something, fair ladies?" Elisaveta surveyed him calmly and said without haste: "What is it?" Elena was silent with fear. "Are you taking a walk?" asked Ostrov. "Yes," answered Elisaveta briefly. "Mr. Trirodov's house is somewhere hereabouts, unless I'm mistaken," said Ostrov, half questioningly.
Their memories pursued one another in a confused, vivid flock. They began to recall the circumstances of yesterday's visit. A secret agitation, akin to shame, stole over them. Little by little they conquered this feeling during the day. Alone again, they discussed what they had seen at Trirodov's. A strange forgetfulness came upon them.
She recalled the details of the previous evening the remote room in Trirodov's house, the small gathering in it, the long discussions, the subsequent labours, the measured knock of the typing-machine, the damp pages put into portfolios. Then she thought how she, Stchemilov, Voronok and some one else walked out into the various streets of the town to paste up the bills.
She seems in every way phlegmatic, yet she tries to appear animated. Her words come rather easily sometimes, and she exaggerates." It was quiet in the garden behind the stone wall. This was Kirsha's free hour. But he could not play, though he tried to. Little Kirsha, Trirodov's son, whose mother had died not long before, was dark and thin. He had a very mobile face and restless dark eyes.
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