Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 7, 2025
Thus walk queens of beloved free lands, barefoot virgins crowned with white flowers, queens of lands of which our too Parisian age does not know. The police sergeant whiffed his shag, vodka, and garlic at Zinaida, and smiling lasciviously, so that the green and the yellow of his crooked teeth showed conspicuously, he said: "Look-a-here, my pretty girl d'ye live here?"
"Go in to her," said the lady. I went in to see Zinaida Fyodorovna, feeling as though I were the father of the child. She was lying with her eyes closed, looking thin and pale, wearing a white cap edged with lace. I remember there were two expressions on her face: one cold, indifferent, apathetic; the other a look of childish helplessness given her by the white cap.
'Is that a made-up story? Malevsky inquired slyly. Zinaida did not even look at him. 'And what should we have done, gentlemen? Lushin began suddenly, 'if we had been among the guests, and had known of the lucky fellow at the fountain? 'Stop a minute, stop a minute, interposed Zinaida, 'I will tell you myself what each of you would have done.
There is nothing but the sound of their shrill cry, and her wreath left lying on the bank. Zinaida ceased. 'And is that all? asked Meidanov. 'That's all. 'That can't be the subject of a whole poem, he observed pompously, 'but I will make use of your idea for a lyrical fragment. 'In the romantic style? queried Malevsky. 'Of course, in the romantic style Byronic.
Zinaida Fyodorovna ran into the passage and flung her arms round the old woman's neck. "Nina, I've been deceived," she sobbed loudly. "I've been coarsely, foully deceived! Nina, Nina!" I handed the basket to the peasant woman. The door was closed, but still I heard her sobs and the cry "Nina!" I got into the cab and told the man to drive slowly to the Nevsky Prospect.
She did not hear me come in, or heard, perhaps, but did not pay attention. I stood, looked at her, and waited. But her face was contorted with pain; she opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling, as though wondering what was happening to her. . . . There was a look of loathing on her face. "It's horrible . . ." she whispered. "Zinaida Fyodorovna." I spoke her name softly.
Then I sang 'Not the white snows, and passed from that to a song well known at that period: 'I await thee, when the wanton zephyr, then I began reading aloud Yermak's address to the stars from Homyakov's tragedy. I made an attempt to compose something myself in a sentimental vein, and invented the line which was to conclude each verse: 'O Zinaida, Zinaida! but could get no further with it.
'Ah! commented Zinaida, and she gave me a sidelong look, 'What a memory he has! Well? I'm quite ready now ... And stooping to me, she imprinted on my forehead a pure, tranquil kiss. I only looked at her, while she turned away, and saying, 'Follow me, my page, went into the lodge. I followed her all in amazement.
And it seemed strange to me that Zinaida Fyodorovna was not conscious of it; it vexed me. But she had only to go out of the house for me to find excuses and explanations for everything, and to be waiting eagerly for the hall porter to ring for me. She treated me as a flunkey, a being of a lower order.
My father shrugged his shoulders, and straightened his hat on his head, which was always a sign of impatience with him.... Then I caught the words: 'Vous devez vous separer de cette... Zinaida sat up, and stretched out her arm.... Suddenly, before my very eyes, the impossible happened.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking