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Pyotr Stepanovitch, of course, had treated them badly; it might all have gone off far more harmoniously and easily if he had taken the trouble to embellish the facts ever so little.
The children, too, were embracing Sonia on all sides, and Polenka though she did not fully understand what was wrong was drowned in tears and shaking with sobs, as she hid her pretty little face, swollen with weeping, on Sonia's shoulder. "How vile!" a loud voice cried suddenly in the doorway. Pyotr Petrovitch looked round quickly. "What vileness!"
The agonised, wasted, consumptive face, the parched blood-stained lips, the hoarse voice, the tears unrestrained as a child's, the trustful, childish and yet despairing prayer for help were so piteous that everyone seemed to feel for her. Pyotr Petrovitch at any rate was at once moved to compassion.
She dreamed of "giving happiness" and reconciling the irreconcilable, or, rather, of uniting all and everything in the adoration of her own person. She had favourites too; she was particularly fond of Pyotr Stepanovitch, who had recourse at times to the grossest flattery in dealing with her.
Her patronage partly explained Pyotr Stepanovitch's rapid success in our society a success with which Stepan Trofimovitch was particularly impressed at the time. We possibly exaggerated it. To begin with, Pyotr Stepanovitch seemed to make acquaintance almost instantly with the whole town within the first four days of his arrival.
And when in the morning I saw quivering patches of sunlight and the shadows of the lime trees on my bed, what had happened yesterday rose vividly in my memory. Life seemed to me rich, varied, full of charm. Humming, I dressed quickly and went out into the garden.... And what happened afterwards? Why nothing. In the winter when we lived in town Pyotr Sergeyitch came to see us from time to time.
I’m delighted to think that you’re in the service here!” I’ve never given him money, never: That I swear by all that’s holy! “Here’s the note!” she turned quickly to Pyotr Ilyitch. “Go, save him. It’s a noble deed on your part!” And she made the sign of the cross three times over him. She ran out to accompany him to the passage. “How grateful I am to you!
I'll work in the sweat of my brow, I'll work day and night in fact, I will strain every nerve to make Zina happy. Her life will be a splendid one! You may ask, am I able to do it. I am, brother! When a man devotes every minute to one thought, it's not difficult for him to attain his object. But let us go to Zina; it will be a joy to her to see you." Pyotr Mihalitch's heart began to beat.
She had been detained by Alexey Yegorytch, who was following a step behind her, in a tail coat, and without a hat; his head was bowed respectfully. He was persistently entreating her to wait for a carriage; the old man was alarmed and almost in tears. "Go along. Your master is asking for tea, and there's no one to give it to him," said Pyotr Stepanovitch, pushing him away. He took Liza's arm.
Pyotr Stepanovitch skipped away extremely well satisfied with himself. It would be difficult to imagine a more pitiful, vulgar, dull and insipid allegory than this "literary quadrille." Nothing could be imagined less appropriate to our local society. Yet they say it was Karmazinov's idea.
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