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Updated: May 8, 2025
Yegorushka heard a soft, very caressing gurgle, and felt a different air breathe on his face with a cool velvety touch. Through a little pipe of hemlock stuck there by some unknown benefactor, water was running in a thin trickle from a low hill, put together by nature of huge monstrous stones.
While they were consulting, another little curly head on a thin neck peeped out of the greasy quilt, then a third, then a fourth. . . . If Yegorushka had had a fertile imagination he might have imagined that the hundred-headed hydra was hiding under the quilt. "Ghaal-ghaal-ghaal-ghaal!" said Moisey Moisevitch. "Too-too-too-too!" answered the Jewess.
He thought that he and the great-coat were both abandoned to the mercy of destiny; he thought that he would never get back home, and began sobbing so violently that he almost fell off the heap of dung. A big white dog with woolly tufts like curl-papers about its face, sopping from the rain, came into the shed and stared with curiosity at Yegorushka.
"Say this too, please," laughed Dyrnov: "'every little sucking-pig wants to lay down the law. Shall I pull your ear?" Yegorushka felt that he could not breathe; and something which had never happened to him before he suddenly began shaking all over, stamping his feet and crying shrilly: "Beat him, beat him!" Tears gushed from his eyes; he felt ashamed, and ran staggering back to the waggon.
The greasy quilt quivered, and from beneath it appeared a child's curly head on a very thin neck; two black eyes gleamed and stared with curiosity at Yegorushka. Still sighing, Moisey Moisevitch and the Jewess went to the chest of drawers and began talking in Yiddish.
"The rouble notes are done up in fifties, . . . the three-rouble notes in nineties, the twenty-five and hundred roubles in thousands. You count out seven thousand eight hundred for Varlamov, and I will count out for Gusevitch. And mind you don't make a mistake. . ." Yegorushka had never in his life seen so much money as was lying on the table before him.
The air was full of the churring music of the steppes, as it had been the day before. Yegorushka lay on his back, and, putting his hands under his head, gazed upwards at the sky. He watched the glow of sunset kindle, then fade away; guardian angels covering the horizon with their gold wings disposed themselves to slumber.
He invited me to breakfast with him, but I didn't go. I don't like visiting people too early, God bless them!" He took off his cassock, stroked himself on the chest, and without haste undid the parcel. Yegorushka saw a little tin of caviare, a piece of dry sturgeon, and a French loaf. "See; I passed a fish-shop and brought this," said Father Christopher.
"What a business, only think!" sighed Panteley, looking towards the settlement, too, and shuddering at the morning freshness. "He has sent a man to the settlement for some papers, and he doesn't come . . . . He should have sent Styopka." "Who is that, Grandfather?" asked Yegorushka. "Varlamov." My goodness! Yegorushka jumped up quickly, getting upon his knees, and looked at the white cap.
It seemed to be hesitating whether to bark or not. Deciding that there was no need to bark, it went cautiously up to Yegorushka, ate the sticky plaster and went out again. "There are Varlamov's men!" someone shouted in the street. After having his cry out, Yegorushka went out of the shed and, walking round a big puddle, made his way towards the street.
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