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Something like Varenka's. So pretty and inexpensive." "Well, now I think it's done," said Dolly, dropping the syrup from the spoon. "When it sets as it drops, it's ready. Cook it a little longer, Agafea Mihalovna." "The flies!" said Agafea Mihalovna angrily. "It'll be just the same," she added. "Ah! how sweet it is! don't frighten it!"
"And you, Monsieur Nicolas," says Varenka's mamma, turning to me, "are not handsome, but you are attractive. . . . There is something about your face. . . . In men, though, it's not beauty but intelligence that matters," she adds, sighing. The young ladies sigh, too, and drop their eyes . . . they agree that the great thing in men is not beauty but intelligence.
At that instant, Mashenka's maman appears in the doorway of the arbour. . . . She makes a face as though in alarm, and saying "sh-sh" to someone with her, vanishes like Mephistopheles through the trapdoor. Confused and enraged, I return to our villa. At home I find Varenka's maman embracing my maman with tears in her eyes. And my maman weeps and says: "I always hoped for it!"
Boldly running up to Sergey Ivanovitch with shining eyes, so like her father's fine eyes, she handed him his hat and made as though she would put it on for him, softening her freedom by a shy and friendly smile. "Varenka's waiting," she said, carefully putting his hat on, seeing from Sergey Ivanovitch's smile that she might do so.
Kitty cried quickly, snatching the parasol out of Varenka's hand, and looking past her friend's face. Varenka felt inclined to smile, looking at her childish fury, but she was afraid of wounding her. "How does it serve you right? I don't understand," she said. "It serves me right, because it was all sham; because it was all done on purpose, and not from the heart.
The particulars which the princess had learned in regard to Varenka's past and her relations with Madame Stahl were as follows: Madame Stahl, of whom some people said that she had worried her husband out of his life, while others said it was he who had made her wretched by his immoral behavior, had always been a woman of weak health and enthusiastic temperament.
He even said over to himself the words in which he meant to put his offer, but instead of those words, some utterly unexpected reflection that occurred to him made him ask: "What is the difference between the 'birch' mushroom and the 'white' mushroom?" Varenka's lips quivered with emotion as she answered: "In the top part there is scarcely any difference, it's in the stalk."
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