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datatime: 2022-09-30 16:48:07 Author:AxdBOYts

You certainly have no reason to thank me," Nekhludoff said.

The dismal prison house, with its sentinel and lamp burning underthe gateway, produced an even more dismal impression, with itslong row of lighted windows, than it had done in the morning, inspite of the white covering that now lay over everythingtheporch, the roof and the walls.

Loving or not loving, what does it matter? I have given up allthat. And then Valdemar Simonson is quite an exceptional man."

The weather had changed. It was snowing, and the snow felldensely in large flakes, and already covered the road, the roofand the trees in the garden, the steps of the porch, the roof ofthe trap and the back of the horse.

MASLOVA'S DECISION.

The weather had changed. It was snowing, and the snow felldensely in large flakes, and already covered the road, the roofand the trees in the garden, the steps of the porch, the roof ofthe trap and the back of the horse.

Nekhludoff, tired and indifferent, followed him.

And this is Vasiuk, as 'grandpapa' calls him. Quite a differenttype. A Siberian, is he not?"

Nekhludoff recalled to his mind chains, shaved heads, fightingdebauchery, the dying Kryltzoff, Katusha and the whole of herpast, and he began to feel envious and to wish for what he sawhere, which now seemed to him pure and refined happiness.

Well, would you like to look round the cells now?" the inspectorasked.

This is Katie," said the mother, straightening the white andblue crochet coverlet, from under which a little white footpushed itself languidly out.

We do not want anything," she said, and looked at him.

She got over her emotion and quietly told him all she knew.Kryltzoff was very weak and had been sent into the infirmary.Mary Pavlovna was very anxious, and had asked to be allowed to goto the infirmary as a nurse, but could not get the permission.

And this is Vasiuk, as 'grandpapa' calls him. Quite a differenttype. A Siberian, is he not?"

Loving or not loving, what does it matter? I have given up allthat. And then Valdemar Simonson is quite an exceptional man."

One of two things," thought he. "Either she loves Simonson anddoes not in the least require the sacrifice I imagined I wasbringing her, or she still loves me and refuses me for my ownsake, and is burning her ships by uniting her fate withSimonson." And Nekhludoff felt ashamed and knew that he wasblushing.

Bytheway, where are you staying?" asked the General as he wastaking leave of Nekhludoff. "At Duke's? Well, it's horrid enoughthere. Come and dine with us at five o'clock. You speak English?

The Englishman had a trap of his own, and Nekhludoff, having toldthe coachman to drive to the prison, called his isvostchik andgot in with the heavy sense of having to fulfil an unpleasantduty, and followed the Englishman over the soft snow, throughwhich the wheels turned with difficulty.

The postoffice was a lowvaulted room. Several officials satbehind a counter serving the people, of whom there was quite acrowd. One official sat with his head bent to one side and keptstamping the envelopes, which he slipped dexterously under thestamp. Nekhludoff had not long to wait. As soon as he had givenhis name, everything that had come for him by post was at oncehanded to him. There was a good deal: letters, and money, andbooks, and the last number of Fatherland Notes. Nekhludoff tookall these things to a wooden bench, on which a soldier with abook in his hand sat waiting for something, took the seat by hisside, and began sorting the letters. Among them was oneregistered letter in a fine envelope, with a distinctly stampedbright red seal. He broke the seal, and seeing a letter fromSelenin and some official paper inside the envelope, he felt theblood rush to his face, and his heart stood still. It was theanswer to Katusha's petition. What would that answer be?Nekhludoff glanced hurriedly through the letter, written in anillegibly small, hard, and cramped hand, and breathed a sigh ofrelief. The answer was a favourable one.

She pressed his hand, turned quickly and left the room.

Nekhludoff wrote down the names.

How many persons is the prison built to hold?" the Englishmanasked. "How many are confined in it? How many men? How manywomen? Children? How many sentenced to the mines? How manyexiles? How many sick persons?"

THE ENGLISH VISITOR.

The Englishman had a trap of his own, and Nekhludoff, having toldthe coachman to drive to the prison, called his isvostchik andgot in with the heavy sense of having to fulfil an unpleasantduty, and followed the Englishman over the soft snow, throughwhich the wheels turned with difficulty.

What a good woman you are," he said.

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