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Updated: June 23, 2025
Nikita opened the door quickly, and roughly with both his hands and his knee shoved Andrey Yefimitch back, then swung his arm and punched him in the face with his fist. It seemed to Andrey Yefimitch as though a huge salt wave enveloped him from his head downwards and dragged him to the bed; there really was a salt taste in his mouth: most likely the blood was running from his teeth.
Two from our town—who they are I can’t say—and there are two others, strangers, maybe more besides. I didn’t ask particularly. They’ve set to playing cards, so Timofey said.” “Cards?” “So, maybe they’re not in bed if they’re at cards. It’s most likely not more than eleven.” “Quicker, Andrey! Quicker!” Mitya cried again, nervously.
"Andrey!... My God, how I will miss him!" he said and I, who knew how often he had cursed the little man and been impatient with his importunities, understood. "I have lost more far more than Andrey," he said. "I talked to you once, Ivan Andreievitch. You will understand that I have no one now who can bring her to me. I think that she will never come to me alone.
No, she's too hot-headed, she really is." "Yes, she has something of that owgrwe," Andrey Antonovitch muttered with some satisfaction, though at the same time he resented this unmannerly fellow's daring to express himself rather freely about Yulia Mihailovna.
Don't let anyone out!" yelled Lembke, stretching out his arms menacingly towards the crowding people. "Every one without exception to be strictly searched at once!" A storm of violent oaths rose from the crowd. "Andrey Antonovitch! Andrey Antonovitch!" cried Yulia Mihailovna in complete despair. "Arrest her first!" shouted her husband, pointing his finger at her threateningly. "Search her first!
Her conception of work was now indissolubly connected with the work that her son, Andrey, and their comrades were doing. She moved a little toward Nikolay, and looking in his eyes, asked: "Yes? You say work will be found for me?" "My household is a small one, I am a bachelor " "I'm not talking about that, not about housework," she said quietly. "I mean world work."
On arriving at the town hall at the time fixed, Andrey Yefimitch found there the military commander, the superintendent of the district school, a member of the town council, Hobotov, and a plump, fair gentleman who was introduced to him as a doctor. This doctor, with a Polish surname difficult to pronounce, lived at a pedigree stud-farm twenty miles away, and was now on a visit to the town.
After I had spoken, Nikitin, taking me aside, told me that he thought that Andrey Vassilievitch would be better at Mittövo. "He is a little in the way here," he said. "Certainly he does his best, but this is not his place." Nikitin wore the same preoccupied air as the others. "Whatever you do," he said, "don't let Andrey know that I spoke to you."
"My Andrey. . . . Bother him, your Andrey. I am sorry for your youth." They were already sitting down to supper as the young people went into the dining-room.
The thin rays of the sun trembled like golden ribbons in the thick, odorous atmosphere. Somewhere a crow cawed with bold assurance. The mother looked around, troubled by her recollections of the first of May, and grieving for her son and Andrey. Broken barrels lay about in confusion in the small, crowded glade.
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