The Chorus Girl and Other Stories eBook

This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 268 pages of information about The Chorus Girl and Other Stories.

She was indignant, and there was rancour in her heart, and meanwhile I was growing used to the peasants, and I felt more and more drawn to them.  For the most part they were nervous, irritable, downtrodden people; they were people whose imagination had been stifled, ignorant, with a poor, dingy outlook on life, whose thoughts were ever the same—­of the grey earth, of grey days, of black bread, people who cheated, but like birds hiding nothing but their head behind the tree—­people who could not count.  They would not come to mow for us for twenty roubles, but they came for half a pail of vodka, though for twenty roubles they could have bought four pails.  There really was filth and drunkenness and foolishness and deceit, but with all that one yet felt that the life of the peasants rested on a firm, sound foundation.  However uncouth a wild animal the peasant following the plough seemed, and however he might stupefy himself with vodka, still, looking at him more closely, one felt that there was in him what was needed, something very important, which was lacking in Masha and in the doctor, for instance, and that was that he believed the chief thing on earth was truth and justice, and that his salvation, and that of the whole people, was only to be found in truth and justice, and so more than anything in the world he loved just dealing.  I told my wife she saw the spots on the glass, but not the glass itself; she said nothing in reply, or hummed like Stepan “oo-loo-loo-loo.”  When this good-hearted and clever woman turned pale with indignation, and with a quiver in her voice spoke to the doctor of the drunkenness and dishonesty, it perplexed me, and I was struck by the shortness of her memory.  How could she forget that her father the engineer drank too, and drank heavily, and that the money with which Dubetchnya had been bought had been acquired by a whole series of shameless, impudent dishonesties?  How could she forget it?


My sister, too, was leading a life of her own which she carefully hid from me.  She was often whispering with Masha.  When I went up to her she seemed to shrink into herself, and there was a guilty, imploring look in her eyes; evidently there was something going on in her heart of which she was afraid or ashamed.  So as to avoid meeting me in the garden, or being left alone with me, she always kept close to Masha, and I rarely had an opportunity of talking to her except at dinner.

One evening I was walking quietly through the garden on my way back from the building.  It was beginning to get dark.  Without noticing me, or hearing my step, my sister was walking near a spreading old apple-tree, absolutely noiselessly as though she were a phantom.  She was dressed in black, and was walking rapidly backwards and forwards on the same track, looking at the ground.  An apple fell from the tree; she started at the sound, stood still and pressed her hands to her temples.  At that moment I went up to her.

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The Chorus Girl and Other Stories from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.
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