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Updated: June 16, 2025
They would play billiards or picquet by the hour together without uttering a word, if Yagitch drove out on any expedition he always took Volodya with him, and Yagitch was the only person Volodya initiated into the mysteries of his thesis. In earlier days, when Yagitch was rather younger, they had often been in the position of rivals, but they had never been jealous of one another.
You are really horrid! . . . At your age you ought to be living, skipping, and jumping, chattering, flirting, falling in love." Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand, and thought. . . . "He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really. . . . Listen! Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid philosopher!" she laughed.
The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? Volodya had never heard a word of it from his maman or any of the people round about him. When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to be asleep. . . . "Bother it! Damn it all!" he thought. He got up between ten and eleven.
Then when they had sat down, he admired her dressing-gown. "I was upset by seeing Olga yesterday," she said. "At first I felt it dreadful, but now I envy her. She is like a rock that cannot be shattered; there is no moving her. But was there no other solution for her, Volodya? Is burying oneself alive the only solution of the problem of life? Why, it's death, not life!"
"Volodya," Vera Semyonovna interrupted his critical effusions, "I've been haunted by a strange idea since yesterday. I keep wondering where we should all be if human life were ordered on the basis of non-resistance to evil? "In all probability, nowhere.
"I believe one ought to raise this . . ." he reflected. "Yes, it seems so." Avgustin Mihalitch went into the "general room," and with a laugh began telling them about something. Volodya put the muzzle in his mouth again, pressed it with his teeth, and pressed something with his fingers.
Her hair hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and dark in the half-light. . . . "Why, Volodya is not asleep," she said. "Volodya, look in the cupboard for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has always something the matter." Maman muttered something, yawned, and went away. "Look for it," said Nyuta. "Why are you standing still?"
"However, you do not spare the object of your observations," said Yarchenko, and carefully indicated the girls with his eyes. "Eh, it's all the same. Our relations are cool now." "How so?" asked Volodya Pavlov, who had caught the end of the conversation. "Just so ... It isn't even worth the telling..." smiled the reporter evasively. "A trifle ... Let's have your glass here, Mr. Yarchenko."
Volodya frowned with annoyance and said: "Why do you want science all of a sudden? Don't you perhaps want constitutional government? Or sturgeon and horse-radish?" "Very well, I am a worthless, trivial, silly woman with no convictions. I have a mass, a mass of defects. I am neurotic, corrupt, and I ought to be despised for it.
Volodya Chaplinsky, agitated by this conversation, suddenly asked: "Yes, but tell me, Ellena Victorovna, what would you want to distract your imagination and ennui?" She looked at him with her enigmatic eyes and answered quietly, even a trifle shyly, it seemed: "Formerly, people lived more gaily and did not know prejudices of any sort.
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