Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 2, 2025
Towards evening it was a fine autumn day old Tsybukin was sitting near the church gates, with the collar of his fur coat turned up and nothing of him could be seen but his nose and the peak of his cap. At the other end of the long seat was sitting Elizarov the contractor, and beside him Yakov the school watchman, a toothless old man of seventy. Crutch and the watchman were talking.
"And supposing it is he, what of it?" inquired Yakov Tarasovich in a business-like tone. "Nothing, I don't know him," replied Lubov, indefinitely. "We'll make you acquainted. It's time, Lubov, it's time. Our hopes for Foma are poor, although I do not give him up." "I did not reckon on Foma what is he to me?" "That's wrong. If you had been cleverer perhaps he wouldn't have gone astray!
Four peasants carried the coffin to the graveyard, not for money, but from respect. The coffin was followed by old women, beggars, and a couple of crazy saints, and the people who met it crossed themselves piously. . . . And Yakov was very much pleased that it was so creditable, so decorous, and so cheap, and no offence to anyone.
"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.
After a brief pause, Yakov asked me if I were unwell. 'I'm quite well, I answered through my teeth; 'only my head aches. Yakov made no reply, and took up a book. More than an hour passed by; I was just coming to the point of confessing everything to Yakov ... suddenly there was a ring at the outer bell of my flat.
After writing this letter Kunin heaved a deep sigh, and went to bed with the consciousness that he had done a good deed. On Monday morning, while he was still in bed, he was informed that Father Yakov had arrived. He did not want to get up, and instructed the servant to say he was not at home.
Rising on tiptoe, with his neck outstretched, he stared somewhere toward the end of the table, and his eyes flashed strangely, as though he saw there something which was pleasing to him. "Gordyeeff," said Yona Yushkov, softly. And all heads were turned toward the direction in which Yakov Tarasovich was staring. There, with his hands resting on the table, stood Foma.
The consciousness of this order and its importance afforded Yakov Ivanitch great gratification during his religious exercises. When he was forced to break this order by some necessity to drive to town or to the bank, for instance his conscience was uneasy and he fit miserable.
Well, the old woman has lived her life, thank God. . . . How old is she?" "She'll be seventy in another year, Maxim Nikolaitch." "Well, the old woman has lived her life, it's time to say good-bye." "You are quite right in what you say, of course, Maxim Nikolaitch," said Yakov, smiling from politeness, "and we thank you feelingly for your kindness, but allow me to say every insect wants to live."
My soul is parched." Father Yakov blinked, gasped, and went behind the partition wall. There was a sound of whispering. "With his wife, I suppose," thought Kunin; "it would be interesting to see what the red-headed fellow's wife is like." A little later Father Yakov came back, red and perspiring and with an effort to smile, sat down on the edge of the sofa.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking