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Updated: June 16, 2025


"It's of no consequence. . . . She did not pull her hand away, and laughed when I held her by the waist," he thought. "So she must have liked it. If she had disliked it she would have been angry . . . ." And now Volodya felt sorry that he had not had more boldness there in the arbour.

At the thought of Olga, Volodya's face softened. "Here, you are a clever man, Volodya," said Sofya Lvovna. "Show me how to do what Olga has done. Of course, I am not a believer and should not go into a nunnery, but one can do something equivalent. Life isn't easy for me," she added after a brief pause. "Tell me what to do. . . . Tell me something I can believe in.

The thought occurred to Sofya Lvovna that this man was near and dear to her only for one reason that his name, too, was Vladimir. She sat up in bed and called tenderly: "Volodya!" "What is it?" her husband responded. "Nothing." She lay down again. She heard a bell, perhaps the same nunnery bell.

Volodya prepared his lessons either in his mother's room or in the "general room," as the large room in which the boarders assembled at dinner-time and in the evening was called. On reaching home he lay down on his sofa and put the quilt over him to stop his shivering.

"God grant it were so. You would have done well if you had acted up to what you say. But I cannot be happy about you. At the Sfogins, the youngest son, Volodya, who is fourteen, declared to his mother that he was not going any more to Mass.

A few minutes later, Volodya and his friend Lentilov, somewhat dazed by their noisy welcome, and still red from the outside cold, were sitting down to tea. The winter sun, making its way through the snow and the frozen tracery on the window-panes, gleamed on the samovar, and plunged its pure rays in the tea-basin.

The English girls flitted before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest was a medley of images that floated away in confusion. . . . "No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat, and went into the "general room." There they were drinking tea.

On his former holidays Volodya, too, had taken part in the preparations for the Christmas tree, or had been running in the yard to look at the snow mountain that the watchman and the shepherd were building. But this time Volodya and Lentilov took no notice whatever of the coloured paper, and did not once go into the stable.

In the circle in which they moved Yagitch was nicknamed Big Volodya, and his friend Little Volodya.

One day, Volodya brings her some apples, flowers, and a doll that his little sister has given him. "Why is she always so sad?" he asks Maroussya's brother. "It is on account of the grey stone," he replies. "Yes, the grey stone," repeated Maroussya, like a feeble echo. "What grey stone?" "The grey stone that has sucked the life out of her," explained Vanek, gazing at the sky.

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