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Updated: June 3, 2025
Verbitzsky was cousin to Zina and Boris, and as his young head was a wise one, Boris wished to consult him. We both went, hoping to persuade him out of the crime he meditated. "No," said Boris, "my mind is made up. I may never have such another chance. I will fling these two bombs under the foremost car at the middle of the Volga Bridge.
He was riding through his wood and waste land, and he imagined Zina would try to justify her conduct by talking about the rights of women and individual freedom, and about there being no difference between legal marriage and free union. Like a woman, she would argue about what she did not understand. And very likely at the end she would ask, "How do you come in? What right have you to interfere?"
And finally this scandal with Zina of which one could not see the end! And meanwhile Zina was young she was only twenty-two good-looking, elegant, gay; she was fond of laughing, chatter, argument, a passionate musician; she had good taste in dress, in furniture, in books, and in her own home she would not have put up with a room like this, smelling of boots and cheap vodka.
It was still and warm, with a delicious smell of hay; stars were twinkling brightly between the clouds. Vlassitch's old garden, which had seen so many gloomy stories in its time, lay slumbering in the darkness, and for some reason it was mournful riding through it. "Zina and I to-day after dinner spent some really exalted moments," said Vlassitch.
When I met Sasha after breakfast I could not refrain from grinning and boasting: "'I know! I saw you yesterday kissing Mademoiselle Zina! "Sasha looked at me and said: "'You are a fool. "He was not so cowardly as Zinotchka, and so my effect did not come off. That provoked me to further efforts.
After a brief pause he suddenly asked: "Is it long since you saw General Luhatchev?" "I haven't seen him since last summer." "He likes to be cock of the walk, but he is a nice little old chap. And are you still writing?" "Yes, a little." "Ah. . . . Do you remember how I pranced about like a needle, like an enthusiastic ass at those private theatricals when I was courting Zina?
"You are both of you wet with the rain," said Zina, and she smiled joyfully; she was touched by this point of resemblance between her brother and Vlassitch. And Pyotr Mihalitch felt all the bitterness and horror of his position.
As he rode into the darkness, he looked round and saw Vlassitch and Zina walking home along the road he taking long strides, while she walked with a hurried, jerky step beside him talking eagerly about something. "I am an old woman!" thought Pyotr Mihalitch. "I went to solve the question and I have only made it more complicated there it is!" He was heavy at heart.
Evidently he did not yet know that Zina had gone to live with Vlassitch; perhaps he had been told of it already, but did not believe it. Pyotr Mihalitch felt in a difficult position. "You are very welcome," he muttered, blushing till the tears came into his eyes, and not knowing how to lie or what to say. "I am delighted," he went on, trying to smile, "but . . . Zina is away and mother is ill."
Towards morning the divinity student died of the torture and his body was hidden. They say it was thrown into Koltovitch's pond. There was an inquiry, but the Frenchman paid some thousands to some one in authority and went away to Alsace. His lease was up just then, and so the matter ended." "What scoundrels!" said Zina, shuddering. "My father remembered Olivier and his daughter well.
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