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Updated: May 4, 2025
Alexey!" he began commanding me, "run for my big knife, you know the one with the bone handle it's lying on the table and the other's in my pocket." Vassily positively collapsed. David stood holding him by the waistcoat. "Mercy on us! ... Mercy on us, David Yegoritch!" he muttered; tears actually came into his eyes. "What do you mean, what are you saying? Let me go." "I won't let you go.
By the stove, the granny is pouring out the children's tea. Only the eldest, Vassya, drinks out of a glass, for the others the tea is poured out into saucers. Yegoritch is squatting on his heels before the stove, thrusting a bit of iron into the fire. His head is heavy and his eyes are lustreless from yesterday's drinking-bout; he sighs and groans, trembles and coughs.
All at once Ivan Yegoritch starts, opens frightened eyes, and begins to sniff the air. "Heavens! the stove is smoking!" he groans, grimacing with a face of agony. "Smoking! That insufferable woman makes a point of trying to poison me! How, in God's Name, am I to write in such surroundings, kindly tell me that?" He rushes into the kitchen and breaks into a theatrical wail.
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