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"They say," said Nikolay thoughtfully, throwing himself deeper back on the sofa, "that you should listen to music without thinking. But I can't." "Nor can I," said Sofya, striking a melodious chord.
I have to tell you that I am going no further with you. Speak to me here. You can tell it all in the street." "In the first place, I can't say it in the street; secondly, you must hear Sofya Semyonovna too; and, thirdly, I will show you some papers.... Oh well, if you won't agree to come with me, I shall refuse to give any explanation and go away at once.
I'd like to have a chat with you; but we'll put it off until evening. Come, boys." The three men walked away, leaving Sofya in the cabin. Then from a distance came the sound of the ax blows, the echo straying through the foliage.
The mother incredulously regarded Sofya, who was searching about for a place into which to drop her cigarette stump, and finally threw it in a flowerpot. "That'll spoil the flowers," the mother remarked mechanically. "Excuse me," said Sofya simply. "Nikolay always tells me the same thing." She picked up the stump and threw it out of the window.
The sentry stood like a post on the embankment and seemed to be looking at the seat. "Let him look," thought Sofya Petrovna. "But . . . but listen," she said at last, with despair in her voice. "What can come of this? What will be the end of this?" "I don't know, I don't know," he whispered, waving off the disagreeable questions. They heard the hoarse, discordant whistle of the train.
I am most ready, most ready to show compassion, if poverty, so to speak, drove Sofya Semyonovna to it, but why did you refuse to confess, mademoiselle? Were you afraid of the disgrace? The first step? You lost your head, perhaps? One can quite understand it.... But how could you have lowered yourself to such an action? Gentlemen," he addressed the whole company, "gentlemen!
The man persisted, and said that "he must be taken somewhere, because their house wasn't a hospital, and if he were to die there might be a bother. We should have no end of trouble." Sofya Matveyevna tried to speak to him of the doctor, but it appeared that sending to the town would cost so much that she had to give up all idea of the doctor. She returned in distress to her invalid.
Sofya began to laugh; she thought it sinful and terrible and sweet to hear about, and she felt envious and sorry that she, too, had not been a sinner when she was young and pretty. In the churchyard they heard twelve strokes beaten on the watchman's board. "It's time we were asleep," said Sofya, getting up, "or, maybe, we shall catch it from Dyudya." They both went softly into the yard.
I want it word for word." Sofya Matveyevna knew the gospel well and at once found the passage in St. Luke which I have chosen as the motto of my record. I quote it here again: "'And there was there one herd of many swine feeding on the mountain; and they besought him that he would suffer them to enter into them. And he suffered them.
This cold, irrelevant sound from the everyday world of prose made Sofya Petrovna rouse herself. "I can't stay . . . it's time I was at home," she said, getting up quickly. "The train is coming in. . . Andrey is coming by it! He will want his dinner." Sofya Petrovna turned towards the embankment with a burning face. The engine slowly crawled by, then came the carriages.
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