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Anton Chekhov

The Horse-Stealers and Other Stories

    Ирина Осипенкоhas quoted7 months ago
    Two carts drove by on the road; in one of them there was a woman asleep, in the other sat an old man without a cap on.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quoted7 months ago
    He took a poker from the kitchen to keep off the dogs, and went out into the yard, leaving the door open.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quoted10 months ago
    The first room into which he went was large and very hot, and smelt of freshly washed floors. A short, lean peasant of about forty, with a small, fair beard, wearing a dark blue shirt, was sitting at the table under the holy images. It was Kalashnikov, an arrant scoundrel and horse-stealer, whose father and uncle kept a tavern in Bogalyovka, and disposed of the stolen horses where they could. He too had been to the hospital more than once, not for medical treatment, but to see the doctor about horses--to ask whether he had not one for sale, and whether his honour would not like to swop his bay mare for a dun-coloured gelding. Now his head was pomaded and a silver ear-ring glittered in his ear, and altogether he had a holiday air.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    But finally Merik stamped for the last time, and stood still as though turned to stone. Exhausted and almost breathless, Lyubka sank on to his bosom and leaned against him as against a post, and he put his arms round her, and looking into her eyes, said tenderly and caressingly, as though in jest:

    "I'll find out where your old mother's money is hidden, I'll murder her and cut your little throat for you, and after that I will set fire to the inn. . . . People will think you have perished in the fire, and with your money I shall go to Kuban. I'll keep droves of horses and flocks of sheep. . . ."
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    At last, with a wave of his hand, the comic man began talking about Vyazma himself to comfort the invalid.

    "It's a fine town," he said soothingly, "a capital town, old man! It's famous for its cakes. The cakes are classical, but--between ourselves--h'm!--they are a bit groggy. For a whole week after eating them I was . . . h'm! . . . But what is fine there is the merchants! They are something like merchants. When they treat you they do treat you!"

    The comic man talked while Shtchiptsov listened in silence and nodded his head approvingly.

    Towards evening he died.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    Brama-Glinsky (that was his stage name, in his passport he was called Guskov) walked away to the window, put his hands in his pockets, and fell to gazing into the street. Before his eyes stretched an immense waste, bounded by a grey fence beside which ran a perfect forest of last year's burdocks. Beyond the waste ground was a dark, deserted factory, with windows boarded up. A belated jackdaw was flying round the chimney. This dreary, lifeless scene was beginning to be veiled in the dusk of evening.

    "I must go home!" the jeune premier heard.

    "Where is home?"

    "To Vyazma . . . to my home. . . ."
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    "So this is real life," thought Andrey Yefimitch, and he felt frightened.

    The moon and the prison, and the nails on the fence, and the far-away flames at the bone-charring factory were all terrible. Behind him there was the sound of a sigh. Andrey Yefimitch looked round and saw a man with glittering stars and orders on his breast, who was smiling and slyly winking. And this, too, seemed terrible.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    "I have never had a thought of taking offence. Illness is no joke, I understand. Your attack frightened the doctor and me yesterday, and we had a long talk about you afterwards. My dear friend, why won't you treat your illness seriously? You can't go on like this . . . . E
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    Seeing the hospital assistant, Kalashnikov greeted him.

    "Yes, it is weather," said Yergunov, rubbing his chilled knees with his open hands. "The snow is up to one's neck; I am soaked to the skin, I can tell you. And I believe my revolver is, too. . . ."

    He took out his revolver, looked it all over, and put it back in his knapsack. But the revolver made no impression at all; the peasant went on looking at the book.

    "Yes, it is weather. . . . I lost my way, and if it had not been for the dogs here, I do believe it would have been my death. There would have been a nice to-do. And where are the women?"

    "The old woman has gone to Ryepino, and the girl is getting supper ready . . ." answered Kalashnikov.

    Silence followed. Yergunov, shivering and gasping, breathed on his hands, huddled up, and made a show of being very cold and exhausted. The still angry dogs could be heard howling outside. It was dreary.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    "Bid your labourer take my horse out, granny," said he.

    "I am not granny."
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    With a hoarse bark a black dog rolled like a ball under the horse's feet, then another white one, then another black one--there must have been a dozen of them.
    Ирина Осипенкоhas quotedlast year
    The wind drove away the mist of snow from before the eyes, and where there had been a red blur, there sprang up a small, squat little house with a steep thatched roof. Of the three little windows one, covered on the inside with something red, was lighted up.
    ysafi01has quoted2 years ago
    Well, you see, none but children or sheep can reason like that
    ysafi01has quoted2 years ago
    Because one shouldn't be a sheep
    ysafi01has quoted2 years ago
    The tears of the mouse come back to the cat. Serve them right, the scoundrels! They could steal, the rooks, so let them answer for it
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