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Updated: June 7, 2025
"Oh, I hate the war!" she answered. "We're all terribly tired of it. Tanya's given up going to the English hospital now, and is just meaning to be as gay as she can be; and Zinaida Fyodorovna had just come back from her Otriad on the Galician front, and she says it's shocking there now no food or dancing or anything. Why doesn't every one make peace?" "Do you want the Germans to rule Russia?"
Shabalov cried out: "Open the gate! You devils, demons, sinners!" Madame Doulebova tried to soothe Shabalov, who justified himself: "Forgive me, Zinaida Grigorievna. It is most annoying. If I had come myself I shouldn't have minded waiting, though even then it would have been discourteous being, after all, an official.
If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would be less hateful to me than the service?" "You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk." "Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official.
The sergeant smiled incredulously, and asked: "You're not fibbing?" Zinaida shrugged her shoulders. She looked sternly at the man, and said in astonishment: "What are you saying? How is it possible to tell an untruth? And why should I tell you an untruth?" "How is one to tell?" growled the sergeant. "Once I begin to believe you there are lots of things you might say."
Tired out and faint with happiness, I left the lodge; at parting Zinaida pressed my hand warmly, and again smiled mysteriously. The night air was heavy and damp in my heated face; a storm seemed to be gathering; black stormclouds grew and crept across the sky, their smoky outlines visibly changing.
Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly well behaved, well trained, and does not shriek when Kukushkin pinches her." "You mean that you can't part with her? . . . Why don't you say so?" "Are you jealous?" "Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly. "Thank you."
The cab had no apron, the snow fell on us in big flakes, and the wind, especially on the Neva, pierced us through and through. I began to feel as though we had been driving for a long time, that for ages we had been suffering, and that for ages I had been listening to Zinaida Fyodorovna's shuddering breath.
'If we are to have compositions, she said, 'let every one tell something made up, and no pretence about it. The first who had to speak was again Byelovzorov. The young hussar was confused. 'I can't make up anything! he cried. 'What nonsense! said Zinaida. 'Well, imagine, for instance, you are married, and tell us how you would treat your wife. Would you lock her up?
All day long I kept a scowling brow and lips tightly compressed, and was continually walking up and down, clutching, with my hand in my pocket, the knife, which was warm from my grasp, while I prepared myself beforehand for something terrible. These new unknown sensations so occupied and even delighted me, that I hardly thought of Zinaida herself.
Could it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance, he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger.
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