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Updated: June 28, 2025
There is a master for you"; and he pointed with his finger at the silent gendarme. "Eh, that fellow there is not worse than our kind"; he pointed with his eyes at Vasily. "Master! He there, master! You're afraid, aren't you?" "No," answered the heavy tongue. "Never mind that 'No. Don't be ashamed; there's nothing to be ashamed of.
Vasily met the old woman, as he was pacing up and down the room, trembling with cold, although it was warm, even hot. And the conversation was brief, painful. "It wasn't worth coming, mother. You'll only torture yourself and me." "Why did you do it, Vasya? Why did you do it? Oh, Lord!" The old woman burst out weeping, wiping her face with the ends of her black, woolen kerchief.
This strong, overfed man, like Nekhludoff himself, made a striking contrast to the emaciated, wrinkled faces of the peasants, and the bare shoulder-bones sticking out from under their caftans. "The Prince came to befriend you to give you the land, but you are not worthy of it," said the German. "Why not worthy, Vasily Karlych? Have we not labored for you?
To add a commercial quarter to the new city, Peter chose the island of Vasily Ostrof, the Finnish "Island of Buffaloes," where a town was laid out in the Dutch fashion, with canals for streets. This island is still the business centre of the city, though the canals have long since disappeared. The streets of St.
Vasily kept silent for a while, pulling at his pipe, then added quietly: "A little more and I should have done for him." "You are hot-tempered." "No, I am not hot-tempered, but I tell the truth and think. Yes, he will still get a bloody nose from me. I will complain to the Chief. We will see then!" And Vasily did complain to the Chief. Once the Chief came to inspect the line.
Never mind about their roads." Vasily got up and collected himself. "Good-bye, Ivanov. I do not know whether I shall get any one at the office to listen to me." "Surely you are not going to walk?" "At the station I will try to get on a freight train, and to-morrow I shall be in Moscow." The neighbours bade each other farewell. Vasily was absent for some time. His wife worked for him night and day.
"Where are you off to?" cried Semyon. Vasily came quite close. He was very pale, white as chalk, and his eyes had a wild look. Almost choking, he muttered: "To town to Moscow to the head office." "Head office? Ah, you are going to complain, I suppose. Give it up! Vasily Stepanych, forget it." "No, mate, I will not forget. It is too late. See! He struck me in the face, drew blood.
"I don't know, brother," he said; "perhaps it is as you say, and perhaps it is God's will." "And perhaps," said Vasily, "it is waste of time for me to talk to you. To put everything unpleasant on God, and sit and suffer, means, brother, being not a man but an animal. That's what I have to say." And he turned and went off without saying good-bye. Semyon also got up.
Three months afterwards Olenka was returning home from mass, downhearted and in deep mourning. Beside her walked a man also returning from church, Vasily Pustovalov, the manager of the merchant Babakayev's lumber-yard. He was wearing a straw hat, a white vest with a gold chain, and looked more like a landowner than a business man.
And almost crying with sorrow because of the eternal misunderstanding which all his life long had stood like a wall between him and those nearest to him, and which even now, in the last hour before death, peered at him stupidly and strangely through small, widely opened eyes Vasily exclaimed: "Don't you understand that I am to be hanged soon? Hanged! Do you understand it? Hanged!"
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