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Updated: June 21, 2025
The same, RISPOLÓZHENSKY and AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA RISPOLÓZHENSKY. My dear Agraféna Kondrátyevna, haven't you pickled your cucumbers yet? AGRAFÉNA KONDRÁTYEVNA. No, my dear. Cucumbers now, indeed! What do I care about them! But have you pickled yours? RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Certainly we have, my dear lady. Nowadays they're very dear; they say the frost got them. My dear Lázar Elizárych, how do you do?
And the results will be surprising, for prisons will be less numerous, workhouses, casual wards and asylums less necessary, lazar houses with their pestilential breath will pass away, and England will be happier, sweeter and more free! What fell power decreed that certain streets in London should be devoted to the purpose of providing "furnished apartments" for the submerged I do not know.
Well, Lázar, suppose I try to make a match between you and Olimpiáda Samsónovna, eh? That indescribable beauty, eh? PODKHALYÚZIN. Good gracious, would I dare? It may be that Olimpiáda Samsónovna won't look kindly on me, sir! BOLSHÓV. Nonsense! I don't have to dance to her piping in my old age! She'll marry the man I tell her to.
USTÍNYA NAÚMOVNA. Aha! here's a matter of a different sort. But so that you won't find life a bore, the house and shops go to you, Lázar, in place of dowry, and I'll throw in some ready cash. PODKHALYÚZIN. Many thanks, daddy; I'm well satisfied with what you've done for me as it is. BOLSHÓV. Nothing to thank me for! They're my own goods I made 'em myself. I give 'em to whomever I please.
And in a cabinet of the very restaurant, adjoining that in which the solitary Gawtrey gorged his conscience, Lilburne, Arthur, and their gay friends, soon forgetful of all but the roses of the moment, bathed their airy spirits in the dews of the mirthful wine. Oh, extremes of life! Oh, Night! Oh, Morning! "Meantime a moving scene was open laid, That lazar house." THOMSON'S Castle of Indolence.
Now in Buffalo, which gave Cleveland to the country, and permits a nigger-loving lazar like the editor of the Distress to run at large, almost anything in petticoats, from old Sycorax to a malodorous coon, might be in some danger of assault by so-called Caucasians. There's every indication that another gigantic prize fight fake will soon make a swipe for the long green of the cibarious sucker.
After all, a sufficient number remained to fall before the walls of St. Lazar, where they behaved like their own country mastiffs, which shut their eyes, run into the jaws of a bear, and have their heads crushed for their valour. But to return to my narration.
As a diseased, miserable, neglected lazar world felt the coming of Christ, the poor and destitute of the world's inhabitants will know when a loving, hopeful Christian comes within reach. Who touched me? might the huge world have said, if it had possessed intelligence, when God became man and dwelt among us.
BOLSHÓV. Lázar, you just recollect; you see, I've given away everything to you, fairly wiped my slate clean; here's what I've got left, you see! You see, I took you into my house when you were a little rascal, you heartless scoundrel! I gave you food and drink as if I were your own father, and set you up in the world. But did I ever see any sort of gratitude in you?
RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Well, give me five. PODKHALYÚZIN. Oh, ask more! RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Well, then, if you'll be so good, give me ten. PODKHALYÚZIN. Ten, sir! What, for nothing? RISPOLÓZHENSKY. Indeed not! I'll work it off, Lázar Elizárych; we'll be quits sometime or other. PODKHALYÚZIN. That's all talk, sir. The snail keeps going, and sometime she'll get there!
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